THE LINES OF INTRENCHMENT
The boys watched the cavalcade until it faded away in the swells of the
plain. At each recurring departure of their friends, in spite of all
bravado to the contrary, a pall of loneliness crept into the hearts of
the waifs. Theirs had been a cheerless boyhood; shifted about from
pillar to post, with poverty their one sure companion, they had tasted
of the wormwood in advance of their years. Toys such as other lads
played with for an hour and cast aside were unknown in their lives, and
only the poor substitute for hoop, horse, or gun had been theirs. In the
struggle for existence, human affection was almost denied them. A happy
home they had never known, and the one memory of their childhood worthy
of remembrance was the love of a mother, which arose like a lily in the
mire of their lives, shedding its fragrance more fully as its loss
was realized.
Joel was the more sensitive of the brothers. Forrest had fully discussed
the coming winter with the older lad, and as an incentive to
watchfulness had openly expressed doubt of the ability of the boys to
battle with the elements. The conversation was depressing, and on the
departure of the men, the boys resumed the discussion of the matter
at issue.
"Mr. Quince thinks we can't hold these cattle," said Joel, watching the
receding horsemen. "He's afraid a storm will catch us several miles out
and cut us off from reaching the corral. Well, it will be my fault if
it does."
Dell made a boastful remark, but the older boy only intensified his gaze
at the fading cavalcade. A vision of his youthful sufferings flashed
through his mind, and a mist, closely akin to tears, dimmed his eyes. He
had learned the lesson that poverty teaches, unaware that the storm
which rocks also roots the oak, but unable to make the comparison or
draw the inference between surrounding nature and himself. For an
instant the horsemen dipped from view, changing the scene, and a picture
rose up, a vision of the future, of independence, of a day when he would
take his place as a man among men. The past was beyond his control, its
bridges burned, but the future was worth battling for; and as if
encouraged by invisible helpers, the boy turned his face to the valley
of the Beaver.
"We'll hold these cattle or starve," said he, unconsciously answering
his gray-haired sponsor, fading from sight over the last divide. "Hold
them. I can hold them alone."
"There's no danger of starving," commented Dell, following his brother
into the tent. "We have provisions for a year."
"Then we'll hold the herd or freeze," answered Joel, almost hissing the
words--words which became a slogan afterward.
The cattle drifted back to their chosen range. The late addition mixed
and mingled with the others, now attached to the valley, with its
abundance of grass and water. Nothing was said about the first four
horses, from which the boys understood that they were, at least for the
present, left in their charge. All told, sixteen horses, fully half of
which were fit for saddle, were at the service of the ranch, ample in
number in proportion to the cattle secured.
It was only the middle of August. An accident, and a little over two
months' time, had changed the character of the Beaver valley. With no
work pressing, the brothers rode the range, circling farther to the west
and south, until any country liable to catch a winter drift became
familiar to sight. Northward ho! the slogan of every drover had ceased,
and the active trail of a month before had been deserted. The new ranch
had no neighbors, the nearest habitation was on the railroad to the
south, and the utter loneliness of the plain was only overcome by active
work. To those who love them, cattle and horses are good company, and in
their daily rides the lads became so familiar with the herd that in the
absence of brands they could have readily identified every animal by
flesh marks alone. Under almost constant contact with the boys, the
cattle became extremely gentle, while the calves even grew so
indifferent that they reluctantly arose from their beds to avoid a
passing horseman.
The cutting, curing, and garnering home the field of corn was a welcome
task. It augmented the forage supply, assuring sustenance to the saddle
horses, an important feature in withstanding the coming winter siege. An
ideal fall favored the ranch, the dry weather curing the buffalo grass
on the divides, until it was the equal of hay, thus assuring the cattle
of ample grazing until spring. The usual squaw winter passed in a swirl
of snow, a single angry day, to be followed by a month of splendid
Indian summer. Its coming warned the lads; the order for corn was
placed; once a week the cattle were brought in and corralled, and the
ranch was made snug against the wintry months.
The middle of November was as early as the railroad would agree to
deliver the corn. It would take three days to go and come, and an equal
number of round trips would be required to freight the grain from the
railroad to the ranch. The corn had been shelled and sacked at elevator
points, eastward in the State, and in encouraging emigration the
railroad was glad to supply the grain at cost and freightage.
The hauling fell to Joel. He had placed the order, making a deposit, and
identification was necessary with the agent. On the very first trip to
Grinnell, a mere station on the plain, a surprise awaited the earnest
boy. As if he were a citizen of the hamlet, and in his usual quiet way,
Paul Priest greeted Joel on his arrival. The old foreman had secretly
left a horse with the railroad agent at Buffalo, where the trail
crossed, had kept in touch with the delivery of corn at stations
westward, and had timed his affairs so as to meet and pay a final visit
to his protégées.
"A battle is sometimes lost by a very slight oversight or accident,"
said the man to the boy. "The ammunition may get damaged, slippery
ground might prevent the placing of a battery at an opportune moment,
or the casting of a horse's shoe might delay a courier with an important
order. I feel an interest in your little ranch, and when I know that
everything is done that can be done to fortify against the coming
winter, I'll go home feeling better. There is such a thing as killing
the spirit of a soldier, and if I were to let you boys try and fail, it
would affect your courage to face the future. That's the reason I've
dropped off to take a last look at your lines of intrenchment. We've got
to hold those cattle."
"Mr. Quince thinks we won't, but let the winter come as it may, we're
going to hold the herd," simply said the boy.
There was a resolution, an earnestness, in the words of the lad that
pleased the man. "Your Mr. Quince has seen some cold winters on the
range," said the latter, "and that's the reason he fears the worst. But
come as it will, if we do all in our power, put up the best fight in us,
and fail, then we are blameless. But with my experience, if I let you
fail, when you might have won, then I have done you an injury."
That was the platform on which men and boys stood, the outline on which
their mutual venture must stand or fall, and admitted of no shirking on
the part of any one. The most minute detail, down to a change of clean
saddle blankets, for winter work, must be fully understood. The death of
a horse in which reliance rested, at an unfortunate moment, might mean
the loss of the herd, and a clean, warm blanket on a cold day was the
merciful forethought of a man for his beast. No damp, frosty, or frozen
blanket must be used on the Wells ranch.
On the return trip, an early start was made. A night camp was necessary,
at the halfway point, the dread of which was robbed of its terrors by
the presence of a veteran of the open. Before leaving the depot, Priest
unearthed a number of bundles, "little things that might come in handy,"
among which was a sack of salt and two empty oak barrels. The latter
provoked an inquiry from Joel, and an explanation was forced at
the moment.
"Did you notice a big steer that came in with the last cattle, and which
was overlooked in branding?" inquired Priest, meeting the boy's query
with a question.
"A mottled beef, branded 7L?"
"That's the steer. Why do you reckon we overlooked branding him?"
"Dell and I thought it was an oversight."
"When you see what I'm going to do with that salt and these barrels,
then you'll see that it was no neglect. That steer has undergone several
Northern winters, has reached his prime, and the governor's cellar won't
have any better corn beef this winter than the Wells ranch. Seven or
eight hundred pounds of pickled beef is an important item in the winter
intrenchments. In fact, it's an asset to any cow camp. There are so many
little things that may come in handy."
The second morning out from the station, Priest bore off on a course
that would land him well above the grove on the Beaver. He had never
been over the range, and not wishing to waste a day with a loaded wagon,
he angled away for the sand hills which formed the divide, sloping away
to the branches of the main creek. Noon found him on the south fork;
cattle were encountered near the juncture, and as he approached the
grove, a horseman rode out as if to dispute the passage of an intruder.
The old foreman noticed the boyish figure and delayed the meeting,
reining in to critically examine cattle which he had branded some three
months before. With diligent intent, the greeting was kept pending, the
wayfarer riding away on a tangent and veering back on his general
course, until Dell's suspicion was aroused. The return of Priest was so
unexpected that the boy's eyes filled with tears, and the two rode
along until the grove was reached, when they dismounted.
"If I had known that you were coming," said Dell, "I could have made
coffee here. It was so lonesome at the ranch that I was spending the day
among the cattle."
"A cowman expects to miss his dinner occasionally," admitted Priest;
"that's why they all look so long and hungry. Where does that 7L
steer range?"
"The big mottled fellow?--Why, down near the corral," replied the boy,
repeating and answering the question.
"I want to look him over," simply said the old foreman.
The two remounted and continued down the valley. The noon hour had
brought the herd in for its daily water, and no animal was overlooked on
the homeward ride. The summer gloss had passed and the hairy, shaggy,
winter coats of the cattle almost hid the brands, while three to six
months' rest on a perfect range was reflected in the splendid condition
of the general herd.
"That's one feature of the winter intrenchments that needn't worry us,"
said Priest; "the cattle have the tallow to withstand any
ordinary winter."
"And the horses are all rolling fat," added Dell. "They range below the
ranch; and there isn't a cripple or sore back among them. There's the
mottled steer."
They were nearing the last contingent of cattle. Priest gave the
finished animal a single glance, and smiled. "Outsiders say," said he,
"that it's a maxim among us Texans never to eat your own beef. The adage
is worth transplanting. We'll beef him. The lines of intrenchment are
encouraging."
The latter remarks were not fully understood by Dell, but on the arrival
of the wagon that evening, and a short confidence between the brothers,
the horizon cleared. Aside from the salt and barrels, there were
sheepskin-lined coats and mittens, boots of heavy felting, flannels over
and under, as if the boys were being outfitted for a polar expedition.
"It may all come in handy," said a fatherly voice, "and a soldier out on
sentinel duty ought to be made comfortable. In holding cattle this
winter, it's part of the intrenchments."
A cyclone cellar served as a storeroom for the sacked corn. Joel was
away by early sun-up, on the second trip to the station, while those
left behind busied themselves in strengthening the commissary. The
barrels were made sweet and clean with scalding water, knives were
ground, and a crude platform erected for cooling out meat. Dell, on the
tip-toe of expectancy, danced attendance, wondering how this quiet man
would accomplish his ends, and unable to wholly restrain his curiosity.
"Watch me closely," was the usual reply. "You will probably marry young,
and every head of a family, on a ranch, ought to know how to cure corn
beef. Give me a week of frosty nights, and the lesson is yours. Watch
me closely."
The climax of the day was felling the beef. Near the middle of the
afternoon, the two rode out, cut off a small contingent of cattle,
including the animal wanted, and quietly drifted them down to the
desired location. Dell's curiosity had given way to alertness, and when
the old foreman shook out a rope, the boy instinctively knew that a
moment of action was at hand. Without in the least alarming the other
cattle, the cast was made, the loop opened in mid-air, settled around
the horns, cut fast by a jerk of the rope, and the contest between man
and animal began. It was over in a moment. The shade of a willow was the
chosen spot, and as the cattle were freed, the steer turned, the
horseman taking one side of the tree and the beef the other, wrapping
several turns of the rope in circling on contrary courses. The instant
the big fellow quieted, on its coming to a level, a pistol flashed, and
the beef fell in his tracks. That was the programme--to make the kill in
the shade of the willow. And it was so easily done.
"That's about all we can do on horseback," said the gray-haired Texan,
dismounting. "You may bring the knives."
Every step in the lesson was of interest to Dell. Before dark the beef
was cut into suitable pieces and spread on the platform to drain and
cool. During the frosty night following, all trace of animal heat passed
away, and before sunrise the meat was salted into barrels. Thereafter,
or until it was drained of every animal impurity, the beef was spread on
the platform nightly, the brine boiled and skimmed, until a perfect
pickle was secured. It was a matter of a week's concern, adding to the
commissary two barrels of prime corned beef, an item of no small value
in the line of sustenance.
The roping of the beef had not been overlooked. "I can't see what made
the loop open for you yesterday," said Dell the next morning; "it won't
open for me."
Priest took the rope from the boy. "What the tail means to a kite, or
the feather to an arrow," said he, running out an oval noose, "the same
principle applies to open the loop of a rope. The oval must have a heavy
side, which you get by letting the Hondo run almost halfway round the
loop, or double on one side. Then when you make your cast, the light
side will follow the heavy, and your loop will open. In other words,
what the feather is to the arrow, the light side is to the heavy, and if
you throw with force, the loop must open."
It seemed so easy. Like a healthy boy, Dell had an ambition to be a
fearless rider and crack roper. During the week which followed, in the
saddle or at leisure, the boy never tired of practicing with a rope,
while the patient man called attention to several wrist movements which
lent assistance in forming a perfect loop. The slightest success was
repeated to perfection; unceasing devotion to a task masters it, and
before the visit ended, the perfect oval poised in the air and the rope
seemingly obeyed the hand of Dell Wells.
"It's all right to master these little details of the cattle business,"
said Priest to Dell, "but don't play them as lead cards. Keep them up
your sleeve, as a private accomplishment, for your own personal use.
These fancy riders and ropers are usually Sunday men. When I make up an
outfit for the trail, I never insist on any special attainments. Just so
he's good natured, and no danger of a rainy night dampening the twinkle
in his eye, that's the boy for me. Then if he can think a little, act
quick, clear, and to the point, I wouldn't care if he couldn't rope a
cow in a month."
In considering the lines of resistance, the possibility of annoyance
from wolves was not overlooked. There was an abundance of suet in the
beef, several vials of strychnine had been provided, and a full gallon
of poisoned tallow was prepared in event of its needs. While Joel was
away after the last load of corn, several dozen wooden holders were
prepared, two-inch auger holes being sunk to the depth of five or six
inches, the length of a wolf's tongue, and the troughs charred and
smoked of every trace of human scent.
That the boys might fully understand the many details, the final
instructions were delayed until Joel's return. "Always bear in mind that
a wolf is a wary beast," admonished Priest, "and match your cunning
against his. Make no mistake, take no chances, for you're dealing with a
crafty enemy. About the troughs on the ground, surrounding the bait,
every trace of human scent must be avoided. For that reason, you must
handle the holder with a spear or hay fork, and if you have occasion to
dismount, to refill a trough, carry a board to alight on, remembering to
lower and take it up by rope, untouched even by a gloved hand. The scent
of a horse arouses no suspicion; in fact, it is an advantage, as it
allays distrust."
In loading a bait, an object lesson was given, using unpoisoned suet.
"After throwing off all suspicion," continued Priest, illustrating the
process, "the next thing is to avoid an overdose. An overdose acts as an
emetic, and makes a wise wolf. For that reason, you must pack the tallow
in the auger hole, filling from a half to two thirds full. Force Mr.
Wolf to lick it out, administer the poison slowly, and you are sure of
his scalp. You will notice I have bored the hole in solid wood, to
prevent gnawing, and you must pack the suet firmly, to prevent spilling,
as a crafty wolf will roll a trough over and over to dislodge the bait.
Keep your holders out in the open, exposed to the elements, scald the
loading tools before using, and you have the upper hand of any wolves
that may molest your cattle."
The trail foreman spent a pleasant two weeks at the Wells ranch. After
the corn was in store, the trio rode the range and reviewed every
possible line of defense. Since the winter could not be foreseen, the
only safe course was to anticipate the worst, and barring the burning of
the range from unseen sources, the new ranch stood prepared to withstand
a winter siege. Everything to forefend against a day of stress or trial
had been done, even to instilling courage into youthful hearts.
"There's only one thing further that comes to mind," said the practical
man, as they rode homeward, "and that is to face an unexpected storm. If
a change of weather threatens, point your herd to meet it, and then if
you are caught out, you will have the storm in your back to drift the
cattle home. Shepherds practice that rule, and the same applies to
cattle under herd."
All horses were to be left at the new ranch for the winter. Dell
volunteered to accompany their guest to the railroad and bring back the
extra mount, thus leaving five of Lovell's horses in possession of the
boys. On the day of departure, at breakfast, after a final summary of
the lines of resistance, the trio dallied about the table, the trail
foreman seemingly reluctant to leave.
"It's a common remark among us drovers," said Priest, toying with his
coffee cup, "that a cowman is supposed to do his sleeping in the winter.
But the next few months you boys must reverse that rule. Not that you
need to deny yourselves abundant rest, but your vigilance should never
sleep. Let your concern for the herd be the first and last thought of
the day, and then I'll get my beauty sleep this winter. The unforeseen
may happen; but I want you to remember that when storms howl the
loudest, your Mr. Quince and I will be right around the bend of the
creek, with our ear to the ground, the reserves, listening to the good
fight you boys are making. Of course you could call the reserves, but
you want the glory of the good fighting and the lust of victory, all to
yourselves. That's the way I've got you sized up--die rather than show
the white feather. Come on, Dell; we're sleeping in the summer."