hurried back to the herd, the hardest and most interesting part of the
day's work begins,--that is, the "cutting out," or sorting, the cattle
of those brands which it is desired to separate from the promiscuous
multitude. In the "general round-up" of the early summer the branding of
the young stock is the chief business; but in this gathering the object
is to separate certain cattle to be driven away to new grazing-grounds
in the northern Territories. As we are riding out with the herders
returning to their work, suddenly the body from head to foot is suffused
with a sense of relief and refreshment, as when water touches a parched
throat; for, after eight hours of scorching heat, a cloud has drifted
across the sun as he begins his descent. It is only in such an arid,
shadeless region that the scriptural metaphor of a "shadow in a weary
land" can have the full force which it had to its Asiatic author.
But now, as we came to the herd and turned to circle about it, the
westward view was wonderfully changed. The background of mountains which
in the morning had been so shadeless was now almost wholly in shadow.
The cloud-puffs of an hour ago had spread and united into black canopies
of storm-cloud. The range had assumed its darkest and most sublime
aspect. As the eye runs up and down the long sweep of vision, here and
there a white peak, flooded with sunshine from an unseen space between
the storms, shines with an unearthly brightness amid the general
blackness. Here and there the snowy head of a mountain looks out cold
and wan through a transparent veil of showers. Every moment at some
point along the rank of mountains a thunderbolt leaps across from cloud
to peak with a quick shiver. A portentous darkness settles over the
Great Divide. The pine-clad slopes are as black as night; the snowy
summits leaden.
In contrast with the dark majesty of the background is the intense
animation of the scene close at hand. Back and forth and round and
round patrol the horsemen appointed to hold the cattle within certain
boundaries. Men representing the owners of brands ride into the crowd of
cattle, and, moving slowly about, observe the brand on every animal they
pass. Usually a rider represents several owners. Catching sight of the
brands for which they are looking, each man follows close at the heels
of the cow he has selected, and, when she is near the edge of the herd,
with a quick jump of his horse he tries to drive her beyond the
boundaries. But commonly she detects his purpose, her gregarious
instinct rebels, and with a quicker jump she is back again among her
friends in the midst of the herd.
Then follows a hard chase around among the frightened cattle. Fifteen or
twenty riders are soon in hot pursuit of their several brands. The whole
herd is in commotion, with a general wheeling movement like a slow
Maelstrom. The cattle are "ginning around," they say. The din of a
thousand bellowing voices grows more thunderous as the herd grows more
uneasy. To watch this tossing sea of animal life is exciting in the
highest degree. The horses, trained by long experience in the work, dash
into it with the fire of a war-horse going to battle. They take evident
pleasure in their superiority over the inferior intelligence of the
cattle. The showy, barbaric costumes of the cow-boys, the exquisite
feats of horsemanship, the excitement of the horses warming to their
work, the occasional dexterous use of the lasso in subduing some animal
at bay, all the rush and tumult, the roar and shouting, the grace of
muscular men and animals in swift motion, make up a spectacle so
stirring and picturesque that all other exhibitions of equestrian skill
seem tame in comparison.
As the cattle one by one are "cut out," they are taken in charge by the
outside riders and driven away to swell the herd of those already
gathered, which is grazing less than a mile away. After two hours of
work, while the commotion seems still as violent as ever, the captain
suddenly shouts the order, "Turn 'em loose!" The cry passes along, the
guards draw to one side, the liberated cattle move quickly away, first
in a body, then in a long scattering line, and the stillness of the
desert succeeds the uproar. In the mean time, the camp has been broken
up and the train of wagons has moved up the river eight or ten miles to
fix a centre for the next day's work. There is little difference between
one day and another. The same operation of "circling in" and "cutting
out" will be repeated till every acre of ground in the allotted district
has been traversed. In the "general round-ups" of the spring each
district contains several thousand square miles, and the work continues
for six weeks or more. In this way a belt of country equal in length to
the distance from Portland to Savannah is swept over by the "round-ups"
every year.
Before this nomadic life of the Plains has been drained of its
picturesque elements by the advance of civilization, I hope that some
painter may arise who can grasp and worthily fix on canvas this most
picturesque scene of American life,--one with the skill of a Church to
paint the mountains and the genius of a Bonheur to catch the beauty of
free animal existence. It should be a great picture, for in its distance
would stand the continent's mountainous head crowned with its shining
diadem, while in the nearer view there would be every attitude of bold
horsemanship, every phase of intense muscular activity, brilliancy of
costumes, the charm of wild life, the beauty of freedom.
AMONG THE COW-BOYS.
LOUIS C. BRADFORD.
[The preceding selection may be fitly followed by the following
description of life among the cow-boys, those wild and wilful
cattle-guards of the West, whose escapades form an interesting
part of the romance of modern times.]
There is a peculiar fascination in the wild life of the cow-boys which
tempts many young men of culture and refinement, reared in the enjoyment
of every luxury in the East, but of adventurous dispositions, to come
and live with these rude spirits on the frontier. Often for thirty-six
hours continuously in the saddle, the hardships of their lot are
apparent. Cold black coffee, without sugar, drunk whenever the
opportunity offers, is the sole luxury of the cow-boy. With a piece of
bread in one hand and some jerked beef in the other, he will ride around
a stampeded herd, eating as he goes, and as happy as a king on his
throne. When night comes, provided his cattle are quiet, he will tie his
horse to his leg, and, "covered with his hat," with a hummock of grass
for his pillow, will sleep peacefully on the broad prairie, and dream
perchance of his sweetheart far back in "God's country."
Perhaps his dreams will be rudely disturbed by the thunder of a thousand
hoofs, as his cattle, becoming frightened at some noise, have stampeded,
and the grass fairly pops beneath their cloven feet. Then it is he does
his tallest riding, and, circling around his cows, brings them back to
where they started. If a wild bull becomes obstreperous and unruly, a
rider dashes past him, and, seizing his tail as he goes by, gives it a
twist around the horn of his saddle, and in a trice the bull is fairly
slung heels over head on his back. Two or three applications of this
discipline will generally reduce the stiffening in a bull's tail to a
minimum and render him as docile as a calf. An expert cow-boy can rope,
throw down, and tie up a cow in just one minute from the time he rides
up to her.
But a man knows nothing of "punching the heifers" who has not been
through on the "trail" to Kansas. Going for days together without
eating, never out of the saddle, mounting a fresh horse as fast as one
is broken down, the limit of endurance is reached, and one who has stood
the test, and can boast of having "busted the Indian Nation square
open," attains respect in the cow-boy's eyes, and is considered to have
taken his degree.
In 1874 the largest drive to Kansas ever recorded took place, when half
a million beeves were driven through. The trail was beaten into a broad
path a mile wide and extending fifteen hundred miles in length. For
miles and miles the string of lowing herds stretched along, while the
keen riders darted hither and thither, keeping them well on the trail.
At night the voices of the men singing to their sleeping cattle could be
heard all along the line, while the long string of camp-fires, throwing
their lurid glare against the black vault overhead, called back to the
minds of many old gray-bearded cow-boys the stormy times when similar
lines of light glimmered along the Rappahannock, and pierced the murky
gloom of some Virginia night. Sometimes the music of a violin, sounding
strangely shrill in the calm night air, would mingle with the deep tones
of voices singing "The Maid of Monterey," or "Shamus O'Brien," the
cow-boy's favorite tunes.
In passing through the Indian Nation it is no uncommon thing for a band
of Indians, all painted and varnished up, to ride down on a beef-herd,
and, singling out the finest cattle in the bunch, compel the white
owners of the stock to cut them out in a separate flock, when the
Indians will gather around them and run them off. Some years ago a party
of five Indians came riding down on a herd which was resting on the
banks of a small creek, and demanded of the boss herdsman ten of the
fattest steers he had. The boss was a bold man, and, looking around on
his fifteen stalwart cow-boys, swore that no five Indians should take
his beeves from him, and, using the polite phraseology of the Plains,
told his redskin visitors to "go to hell." The baffled five retired into
the forest, but soon returned with an increased force of fifty men, who
charged down on the defiant herdsman, whom they nearly beat to death
with his own ramrod, stampeded his cattle, and ran off two hundred of
them into the woods.
It is a wild, rough set of men that camp around the herds after they
have been driven through the Nation and are resting on the grassy plains
of Kansas. Clad in the soiled and dusty jeans of the trail, for weeks in
succession no water has touched their hands or faces, and, unshaven and
unshorn, they give free rein to their exuberant spirits, taking some
quiet Kansas village by storm, setting the tame local laws at defiance,
and compelling the authorities to acknowledge the sovereignty of their
native State.
The wages earned by these cow-boys are twenty-five dollars a month
while they are herding on Texan ranges; but, as the toil and hardship
encountered on the trail are so great, they are paid thirty-five dollars
a month during the drive, and each man furnished with eight ponies to
ride. Some of them return home by rail, visiting the cities of St. Louis
and New Orleans, and managing to be despoiled of all their hard-earned
money during their brief sojourn in "God's country;" but the greater
number straddle their wiry little ponies and ride back through the
Nation to Texas.
Not every one that started out to go up the trail lives to get back, and
the nameless mounds that dot the sides of that broad path bear mute but
powerful testimony to the danger that every hour surrounds the cow-boy.
Whether they fall by a shot from some hostile savage lurking in a
ravine near by, or are dropped by a six-shooter in the hands of a
fellow-herder, they are hastily buried and soon forgotten. Entirely
free from the restraining power of the law, men give free rein to
their passions, and the six-shooter or Winchester rifle--the inseparable
companions of the stock-drivers--is freely resorted to to settle
disputed questions. It is very common for two bosses having charge of
different herds to jump down from their horses and proceed to crack away
at each other until one has bitten the dust.
[Illustration: A KANSAS CYCLONE
FROM THE ONLY SUCCESSFUL PHOTOGRAPH EVER TAKEN]
When a violent storm, accompanied by thunder and lightning, stampedes
the cattle, they will probably get mixed up with two or three other
herds, and much labor and confusion results, and a considerable amount
of tall swearing and fighting takes place before they can be separated
and each herd gotten to itself. Every animal, besides the regular brand
of the owner, has his tail bobbed and a "road-mark" put upon him during
the drive, and in a mixed herd the rider goes in and "cuts out" all the
cattle that bear his brand and runs them into a separate flock.
When cattle are sleeping it requires very little to stampede them. A
loud breath, the clank of a chain tied to the leg of a wagon-mule, or
the galloping of a horse will sometimes cause them to be up and gone in
the twinkling of an eye. They will run over whatever is in their path,
and the only way to stop them is to get them to "milling," or travelling
in a circle, when they will wind themselves up like a ball and stop. It
is instinctive with them to run when anything else is running, and away
they go at the slightest noise, with the cow-boys in wild pursuit after
them.
Living on Stinking Creek, in the Indian Territory, just off the great
trail, is an Irishman named Fitzpatrick, who came to this country not
many years ago, a common specimen of the bog-trotting Tipperary Paddy.
Floating on the tide of emigration westward, he finally went into the
Indian Nation, and, building a cabin in the timber where the trail
crossed Stinking Creek, he proceeded to gather up the cattle that
dropped from the great herds going through or were lost in some big
stampede. His business throve, and in time he married a Choctaw wife and
went to housekeeping, and to day he is the owner of many thousand
beeves, and is regarded as a rising stock-man. He still collects the
stampeded cattle in the creek timber,--a striking example of the strange
ways in which men become rich. More than one big stock-man in Texas
began his career by branding the mavericks, or wild unbranded and
unclaimed heifers, found in the river timber. As an instance of the
manner in which they worked up a herd, it is related of a successful
stock-man that he started with a solitary steer, which he turned loose
on the prairie, and _the first year he branded forty calves_!...
It was with a feeling of sincere regret that the writer of these lines,
meeting with a severe accident, prepared to return to where his home
nestled in the Alleghanies, after a sojourn of eighteen months with
these wild riders of the plains. Lest the impression be conveyed that
these are irreligious and godless men, let the reader fancy a group of
men, belted and spurred, seated in a rude arbor, listening reverently to
a tall cow-boy who has been selected by unanimous choice to read the
Scriptures, and he can form an idea of the last Sunday I spent with the
cow-boys. With slow and deliberate utterance, Phil Claiborne read out
the words of the golden rule, "As ye would that men should do to you, do
ye also to them likewise." Then he proceeded: "These, my hearers, were
the words of the Lord Jesus Christ, who spoke as no man ever spoke; and
I pledge you my word, gentlemen, the Bible is a good egg." Profound
attention greeted the speaker, and continuing, he said, "Whatsoever is
earthly can be soon replaced, but that which is on yon side of the grave
is eternal. If you lose your property, you may acquire more; if you lose
your wife, you may marry again; if you lose your children, you may have
more; but if you lose your immortal soul, then up the spout you go."
HUNTING THE BUFFALO.
WASHINGTON IRVING.
[Washington Irving's experiences were not confined to the banks
of the Hudson, the ruins of the Alhambra, and the rural scenes
of English life, but were extended to embrace the far western
region of his own country, a region at that time still the
domain of savage nature. In 1832, the year embraced in his "Tour
on the Prairies," the buffalo, or bison, now nearly extinct,
roamed in vast herds over the treeless plains, and wild horses
were little less abundant in the same broad region. The work in
question is principally devoted to incidents of a hunter's life
in pursuit of these two animals. The scene lies in the vicinity
of the upper waters of the Red River.]
After proceeding about two hours in a southerly direction, we emerged
towards midday from the dreary belt of the Cross Timber, and to our
infinite delight beheld "the great prairie," stretching to the right and
left before us. We could distinctly trace the meandering course of the
main Canadian and various smaller streams by the strips of green forest
that bordered them. The landscape was vast and beautiful. There is
always an expansion of feeling in looking upon these boundless and
fertile wastes; but I was doubly conscious of it after emerging from our
"close dungeon of innumerous boughs."
From a rising ground Beatte [an Indian member of the party] pointed out
the place where he and his comrades had killed the buffaloes; and we
beheld several black objects moving in the distance which he said were
part of the herd. The captain determined to shape his course to a woody
bottom about a mile distant and to encamp there for a day or two, by way
of having a regular buffalo-hunt and getting a supply of provisions.
As the troop defiled along the slope of the hill towards the
camping-ground, Beatte proposed to my messmates and myself that we
should put ourselves under his guidance, promising to take us where we
should have plenty of sport. Leaving the line of march, therefore, we
diverged towards the prairie, traversing a small valley and ascending a
gentle swell of land. As we reached the summit we beheld a gang of wild
horses about a mile off. Beatte was immediately on the alert, and no
longer thought of buffalo-hunting. He was mounted on his powerful
half-wild horse, with a lariat coiled at the saddle bow, and set off in
pursuit, while we remained on a rising ground watching his manoeuvres
with great solicitude.
Taking advantage of a strip of woodland, he stole quietly along, so as
to get close to them before he was perceived. The moment they caught
sight of him a grand scamper took place. We watched him skirting along
the horizon like a privateer in full chase of a merchantman; at length
he passed over the brow of a ridge and down into a shallow valley; in a
few moments he was on the opposite hill, and close upon one of the
horses. He was soon head and head, and appeared to be trying to noose
his prey; but they both disappeared again below the hill, and we saw no
more of them. It turned out afterwards that he had noosed a powerful
horse, but could not hold him, and had lost his lariat in the attempt.
While we were waiting for his return, we perceived two buffalo bulls
descending a slope towards a stream which wound through a ravine fringed
with trees. The young count and myself endeavored to get near them under
covert of the trees. They discovered us while we were yet three or four
hundred yards off, and, turning about, retreated up the rising ground.
We urged our horses across the ravine and gave chase. The immense weight
of head and shoulders causes the buffalo to labor heavily up-hill; but
it accelerates his descent. We had the advantage, therefore, and gained
rapidly upon the fugitives, though it was difficult to get our horses to
approach them; their very scent inspired them with terror. The count,
who had a double barrelled gun loaded with ball, fired, but missed. The
bulls now altered their course, and galloped down-hill with headlong
rapidity. As they ran in different directions, we each singled out one
and separated.
I was provided with a brace of veteran brass-barrelled pistols which I
had borrowed at Fort Gibson, and which had evidently seen some service.
Pistols are very effective in buffalo-hunting, as the hunter can ride up
close to the animal, and fire at it while at full speed; whereas the
long heavy rifles used on the frontier cannot be easily managed nor
discharged with accurate aim from horseback. My object, therefore, was
to get within pistol-shot of the buffalo. This was no very easy matter.
I was well mounted on a horse of excellent speed and bottom that seemed
eager for the chase, and soon overtook the game; but the moment he came
nearly parallel, he would keep sheering off with ears forked and pricked
forward, and every symptom of aversion and alarm. It was no wonder. Of
all animals, a buffalo, when close pressed by the hunter, has an aspect
the most diabolical. His two short black horns curve out of a huge
frontlet of shaggy hair; his eyes glow like coals; his mouth is open,
his tongue parched and drawn up into a half crescent; his tail is erect,
and tufted and whisked about in the air; he is a perfect picture of
mingled rage and terror.
It was with difficulty I urged my horse sufficiently near, when, taking
aim, to my chagrin, both pistols missed fire. Unfortunately, the locks
of these veteran weapons were so much worn that in the gallop the
priming had been shaken out of the pans. At the snapping of the last
pistol I was close upon the buffalo, when, in his despair, he turned
round with a sudden snort and rushed upon me. My horse wheeled about as
if on a pivot, made a convulsive spring, and, as I had been leaning on
one side with pistol extended, I came near being thrown at the feet of
the buffalo.
Three or four bounds of the horse carried us out of the reach of the
enemy; who, having merely turned in desperate self-defence, quickly
resumed his flight. As soon as I could gather in my panic-stricken horse
and prime the pistols afresh, I again spurred in pursuit of the buffalo,
who had slackened his speed to take breath. On my approach he again set
off full tilt, heaving himself forward with a heavy rolling gallop,
dashing with headlong precipitation through brakes and ravines, while
several deer and wolves, startled from their coverts by his thundering
career, ran helter-skelter to right and left across the waste.
A gallop across the prairies in pursuit of game is by no means so smooth
a career as those may imagine who have only the idea of an open level
plain. It is true, the prairies of the hunting-ground are not so much
entangled with flowering plants and long herbage as the lower prairies,
and are principally covered with short buffalo-grass; but they are
diversified by hill and dale, and where most level are apt to be cut up
by deep rifts and ravines, made by torrents after rains; and which,
after yawning from an even surface, are almost like pitfalls in the way
of the hunter, checking him suddenly when in full career, or subjecting
him to the risk of limb and life. The plains, too, are beset by
burrowing holes of small animals, in which the horse is apt to sink to
the fetlock, and throw both himself and his rider. The late rain had
covered some parts of the prairie, where the ground was hard, with a
thin sheet of water, through which the horse had to splash his way. In
other parts there were innumerable shallow hollows, eight or ten feet in
diameter, made by the buffaloes, who wallow in sand and mud like swine.
These being filled with water, shone like mirrors, so that the horse was
continually leaping over them or springing on one side. We had reached,
too, a rough part of the prairie, very much broken and cut up; the
buffalo, who was running for life, took no heed to his course, plunging
down break-neck ravines, where it was necessary to skirt the borders in
search of a safer descent. At length we came to where a winter stream
had torn a deep chasm across the whole prairie, leaving open jagged
rocks, and forming a long glen bordered by steep crumbling cliffs of
mingled stone and clay. Down one of these the buffalo flung himself,
half tumbling, half leaping, and then scuttled along the bottom; while
I, seeing all further pursuit useless, pulled up, and gazed quietly
after him from the border of the cliff, until he disappeared amidst the
windings of the ravine.
Nothing now remained but to turn my steed and rejoin my companions. Here
at first was some little difficulty. The ardor of the chase had betrayed
me into a long, heedless gallop. I now found myself in the midst of a
lonely waste, in which the prospect was bounded by undulating swells of
land, naked and uniform, where, from the deficiency of landmarks and
distinct features, an inexperienced man may become bewildered, and lose
his way as readily as in the wastes of the ocean. The day, too, was
overcast, so that I could not guide myself by the sun; my only mode was
to retrace the track my horse had made in coming, though this I would
often lose sight of, where the ground was covered with parched herbage.