CHAPTER XVII.
A COW-PUNCHER IN EARNEST.
The round-up was now at hand—that great account of "stock taking," literally, the closing of the year's books as it were, on the cattle range. At its conclusion the ranchman would know whether the previous winter's storms and cold had allowed him any increase or not. The cattle roam at will over great tracts of country bounded only by watercourses and the wire fences along the railways; the herds of one ranchman mingle with those of another, and only during the round-up are they separated and the calves marked with their respective owners' brands.
The date of the round-up is fixed beforehand and all the details arranged, so that when the day arrives every man is ready to take the field. As several owners have cattle on the range, each sends his quota of cowboys to do the riding, and all work together under a general head or round-up boss.
The Sun River Ranch had perhaps the largest number of cattle out, and its outfit consisted of twenty-five men, with two cook wagons and several other vehicles to carry beds and various necessaries.
The morning of May 25th, the day set for the rendezvous of the round-up, was as near perfect as one could wish. With the first streak of light in the east all hands were routed out, and after a hasty breakfast, everyone at once set about making the last preparations to take the field. Some helped the cooks load up their wagons and pack the utensils; some were busy piling the beds into their places, and the rest were occupied with their own riding outfits or looking after the large saddle band.
It was a gay crowd; you would have thought it was a gang of boys off for a swim instead of a party of men bound on a very serious undertaking, accompanied, as it was sure to be, with a good deal of danger and no end of hard work and privation.
John was in the thick of it, looking after the horses he had helped to break. Of these there were a goodly number, for from six to eight were required for each man. He noted with pride that "Lite's" bruises had entirely healed and that his bones were almost wholly hidden by the firm flesh and muscle he had gained under his new master's watchful care. The boy was to be one of the gang that represented the Sun River Ranch, and he looked forward to the round-up as an opportunity to show what was in him.
At last the procession was ready to move, and amid a chorus of "so longs" to those left behind, the shouts of men, the whinny of horses, the rattle and bang of wagons and cooking utensils, the snapping of whips, and the beating of hoofs, it started.
Little time was wasted in making the journey to the camping place, for all were anxious to get to work. At this time, men gathered together from widely separated points, acquaintanceship was renewed and gossip exchanged. The following morning found them at the appointed camping ground in convenient proximity to a stream, and at about the centre of the territory which it was proposed to sweep clean of cattle. Already the triangle bar (
) and the M T outfits had arrived; their cook wagons were unpacked and their fires built. It was not long before the Sun River boys, called the Three X outfit, from their brand (XXX), were likewise settled. The settling in order was not a very elaborate proceeding; there were no carpets to be laid—"the grass of Uncle Sam" served that purpose admirably—the bric-à-brac consisting of saddles, bridles, and some harness, which was slung carelessly on the ground; and the furniture, if the rolled-up blanket beds could be called such (and there was no other), were left in the wagons till wanted.
A hole a foot or so deep and a few feet in diameter was dug in the ground to hold the fire and at the same time prevent it from spreading to the surrounding prairie—a thing to be dreaded. The tail of the cook's wagon was let down, thus forming a sort of table and disclosing a cupboard arrangement. An awning was spread over the whole and it was ready for business.
As soon as these arrangements were completed the men broke up into little groups, renewing old friendships and exchanging the bits of news that one or the other had learned. John hung round the cook's wagon, making friends with that important individual. He was no poor hand with the frying-pan himself, and the appreciation of the cook's efforts soon won over this personage.
"Well, Billy," John was saying, "you'll be kept pretty busy this trip, I guess."
"Yes, it'll be no easy thing," he answered. "It's a big round-up, and it's so terrible dry for this time of year and so dusty that the boys'll be weary and lookin' for trouble—and it'll all come back on me."
"Oh, I guess not," said John consolingly, as he walked about, kicking the tufted buffalo grass and swishing his quirt about aimlessly. "I tell you what, Billy, it wouldn't take much to start a fire in this"—he slapped the grass with his lash. "With a wind like this we'd have a blaze in a minute that would be harder to stop than——Look out!"
John rushed over to the shallow firepit, shouting warnings as he ran, and began stamping down the thin edge of fire that was eating its way into the bone-dry grass. While the two were talking, a gust of wind had blown a brand out of the pit and into the tinder-like hay. John kept stamping frantically, and in an instant Billy had joined him and was also vigorously engaged in crushing out the dreaded flames. They both shouted lustily, and soon a number of the punchers, seeing the thin smoke and realizing the danger, came over to help.
Fire is perhaps the thing of all others that the plainsman dreads; a prairie blaze once fairly started and sweeping over an expanse of territory is almost impossible to stop, and there is nothing to do but run before it; man and beast, tame and wild, flee from it. Only charred and blackened ashes lie behind the swiftly advancing thin line of flame.
All this came into the minds of the men as they tramped out the red tongues of flame that lapped ever further along and around. There was no time to plough round (even if such an aid as a plough could be had) and so check the fire by turning under what it fed upon. Soon it was seen that it would take more than the trampling of men's feet to put it out, and a line was started down the creek with buckets. Then blankets and gunny sacks were wet and beaten against the flames.
The smoke choked and blinded, and the heat was almost unbearable, but the men kept the blankets going until the spiteful red tongues drew back defeated, and died. It was a hard fight for a couple of hours, and when it was over those who took part were hardly recognizable—faces blackened and eyes reddened by smoke, hair, beards, and mustaches singed.
John, who had drawn his smoke-begrimed fingers over his cheeks and forehead, was a sight; Frank saw him thus and said he looked like a cross between a tiger and an ourang outang.
ROPED.
THROWN.
WHOSE IS IT? A QUESTION OF OWNERSHIP.
For a day or two after all the outfits came into camp the time was spent in organizing the round-up and planning the campaign. The ranchmen or foremen, as the case might be, were extremely busy during this time, but for once the punchers were at liberty to do as they pleased. All sorts of cowboy sports were indulged in; horse-racing (where "Lite," like Baldy, generally came out ahead, under John's understanding jockeyship), rope-throwing, and feats of horsemanship. What to an Easterner would appear impossibilities were commonplace acts of good riding for a cow-puncher. Picking up a hat from the ground while riding at full speed was a feat of good but not at all extraordinary riding.
The men were full of life and energy—skylarking was going on continually. It was no place for the seeker of peace and quietness; the air was filled with cowboy yells and shouts of laughter. The unwary one, afoot or on horseback, was likely to hear a sudden swish and in a second find himself hugging mother earth and acting as if he was trying to pull a peg with his teeth, the result of some rope throwing in his rear.
As evening draws near the word is passed that "real work will begin to-morrow," and all hands quiet down, realizing that they will need all the strength that rest can give them. Soon after supper the men pull out their bed rolls, spread them, and, using their saddles as head rests, turn in.
The Sun River round-up is in camp. The moon beams placidly down and shows in high relief the white-topped wagons and tents huddled together. Beds are scattered here and there upon the ground, and from each comes the sound of tired men's breathing. Half a dozen saddled and picketed horses crop the grass near by, and a small bunch of cattle, guarded by a single rider, who lolls sleepily in his saddle, lie a little further off, their heavy bodies appearing strange and shapeless in the half light. A coyote from a little distance barks and howls, but even its voice is drowsy. The only animated sound comes from a bell on a horse tinkling as he feeds.
At four o'clock a little red spark appears near the XXX outfit and the cook can be dimly discerned moving round his wagon. Soon the smoke begins to pour from his fire, and then the cooks of other outfits also show signs of life. Tin pans and kettles are heard to rattle, and breakfast is under way. At a quarter to five the cooks begin the reveille of the plains; dishpans in hand they move about among the sleeping men beating an awakening call neither musical nor poetic, but most effective. Between the strokes comes the long-drawn cry, "Grub p-i-l-e! Grub p-i-l-e!"
Apparently it is no easier to rouse up from the rough couch, knobbed as it is with the inequalities of the surface of the ground beneath, than it is to rise from "flowery beds of ease."
"Cow-punching ain't what it's cracked up to be," said Jerry grumblingly to John as they lay near a XXX wagon. "I'm goin' to quit after this round-up and drive a horsecar."
"It is kinder tough," returned the younger. "I haven't got used to 'Lite's' prancin's yet and I'm stiff."
It's the privilege of every working man on land and sea to grumble at the early getting-up time, and the cow-puncher takes all possible advantage of this immemorial right. They obeyed the summons, nevertheless, and by the time the night-wrangler came up with the saddle band Jerry and John were on hand with the rest of the punchers, having rolled up and stowed their beds in the wagon. A rope corral was drawn about them which sufficed to keep them together, the cow-pony having learned the lesson thoroughly not to run against a rope, even if it is flimsily supported. Each man took his lariat and flung it over the horse he wanted to ride that day. As the noose tightened round the neck of each horse it stood stock still till its owner came up to it. Led a little apart, the fifty-pound saddle was flung over, and in spite of more or less struggling the cinches were drawn tight and the heavy bridle buckled on.
The rush for the mess wagon which followed resembled a run on a bank, and for a few minutes the clatter of tin dishes and steel knives and forks drowned all other sounds. A tin cup of strong, black coffee, a slice or two of bacon, potatoes swimming in gravy, and a generous chunk of bread comprised the bill of fare.
With plates and cups filled, John and Jerry go off a little way to a wagon, and sitting cross-legged with backs against the wheels, proceed to put away with all possible dispatch the food allotted to them. In a few minutes breakfast is over, when each man brings his dishes and throws them on the pile which cook is already busily engaged in washing. Similar proceedings have been going on at all the different outfits at the same time, and soon all hands converge towards the round-up boss's camp.
John and Jerry joined the gathering crowd near the "captain's" wagon and waited for orders. After a few minutes Kline, captain of the round-up, appeared, a stocky man with a gray beard, slouch hat, and greasy, round-up clothes, chaps, flannel shirt, and big spurs. The crowd quieted down instantly.
"Barrett, take six men and go to the head of Bar Creek and rake the brush like a fine-tooth comb," began Kline. Barrett swung into the saddle, and picking out six men rode off with them.
"Haggerty, take six men and clean up Crooked Creek; Moore, three men and go up Indian Gulch," and so the orders went. Each group started on the instant, and trotting off, disappeared in a cloud of dust. Soon all the punchers had gone; only the cooks, the horse-wranglers, and a few drivers were left.
Jerry and John had been sent up a small creek to drive in all the cattle they found in that section. The head of the creek reached (it was about fifteen miles off), Jerry, who was riding some distance from John, signalled to him to turn back and make a detour so as to get around the animals ahead. At the sight of the riders the wild cattle began to gather into bunches and stare; this tendency to come together made it much easier to drive them.
By the time they had driven two miles a considerable number had gathered, which increased as it moved onward as a snowball gathers bulk when it is pushed along.
When Jerry and John reached the main valley they were driving perhaps a couple of hundred head before them. Herds were pouring in from every direction, and soon the whole valley was filled with a vast mass of variously tinted animals, their horns tossing like a sea of tall grass. Over all hung a great cloud of dust that obscured the sun and made it impossible to distinguish a rider the other side of the herd. "This is fierce," ejaculated John as he tried to peer through the brown-gray cloud at another rider.
"A cow-puncher can't live without dust," returned Jerry, whose face was covered with a gray mask, through which his eyes shone in strong contrast. "My teeth is worn down and my lungs coated with it, but I don't mind it no more. Look out for that cow there!"
An old cow, made angry and brave at once by an apparent menace to her calf, was charging down on John full tilt—tail up, head down, eyes rolling—vengeance in every motion; for a minute it looked as if he would be run down: the charging beast was going at such speed that she would be hard to avoid; but when she was within five feet of the boy's horse he gave a quick pull on the rein, a sharp jab with his spurs, and the clever little cow-pony wheeled sharply round and out of range, the old cow lumbering harmlessly by, her own weight and impetus preventing her from turning.
"You want to keep your eye out for those old cows with calves," admonished Jerry, "they're looking for trouble."
All hands were now busy keeping the great herd together, single animals were constantly breaking out and had to be driven back; sometimes several would start at once, when there would be some pretty sharp riding for a while.
It was about midday, the sun was blazing down from above, the dust rose in clouds from below, lining mouths and nostrils of the riders. Since six o'clock they had been in the saddle constantly, and all felt, as Jerry expressed it, "Plumb empty and bone dry."
The herd presently quieted down somewhat and allowed the men to eat in relays, some watching while others fed. It was the briefest kind of a meal, but it sufficed, and in a half hour every man was ready, mounted on a fresh horse, for the real work of the day—"cutting out."
John and Jerry approached the tumultuous herd, a swirling restless sea of backs and horns. The din was tremendous; every cow lowed to her calf and every calf to its mother; the tread of thousands of hoofs even on the soft earth caused a heavy, rumbling sound that filled the air, and above all was the sharp rattle of one horn against another, of a thousand horns against each other. Into this seething mass of living wild creatures armed with sharp horns, and the tread of whose hoofs was death, must go the cowboy and his intrepid pony. To drive out the cows and their accompanying calves, so that the brand of the mother might be put on the offspring, was the cow-puncher's duty.
Jerry and John were as usual near together, and Jerry as usual grumbling. He declared that this cow-punching was a dog's life and that he would surely quit it after this round-up. John, as was his custom of late, was discoursing on the merits of "Lite." "I'll show you what a good cutting-out horse he is to-day," the youngster was saying. "You just watch him." Jerry suddenly rode off to head off a steer that had broken out of the bunch and so stopped the boy's talk. When he came back John was about to dismount to aid a weak calf to rise. "Look out!" was all Jerry had time to shout, as an old cow with horns like spears came charging down on the stooping boy. It was not her calf, but she thought it was. John's horse had become startled and ran back so fast that he could not reach the saddle horn to mount. The infuriated cow was within twenty feet of him, the cattle hedged him in on every side so he could not run, and he reached round for his six-shooter as a last resort. He was about to pull the trigger when Jerry's rope came flying through the air, settled round the animal's hind legs, and down she came in a heap just in time.
"You'll take my word next time when I tell you not to dismount in a bunch of cattle." John said nothing, but he realized that it was a pretty close shave.
Soon the cutting-out process began, to accomplish which the rider enters the main bunch, selects a cow with a calf bearing the brand of his outfit, and drives them out to a place apart, where other riders keep them separated from the main bunch and from the similar collections of other brands. To select his own brand from dozens of others requires a quick and sure eye on the part of the rider, and to follow that particular cow through all the turnings and twistings she is sure to take, requires great cleverness and perseverance on the part of the horse.
It was "Lite's" first experience as a cutting-out horse, but John had full confidence in his ability in this as in every other branch of cow-pony education. "You just watch him"—this to Jerry, who had expressed some doubts. John and Lightning rushed into the sea of cattle. Whether by the gentle pressure of the knees or remarkable knowledge Jerry knew not, but he saw the little horse single out an animal and start it out, following directly at its heels. It turned to the left sharply; Lightning deftly threw his fore legs over its back and stood in its path; it turned to the right—horse and rider were there also. Through the herd they went full speed, twisting, turning, passing through lanes of cattle so narrow that John's legs rubbed their rough bodies on either side; but always they were close at the heels of the XXX cow, and finally they drove her out where Jerry was guarding several others of the same outfit.
"How's that?" said John breathlessly. It was hard work for horse and rider, particularly for the former.
"That's all right," Jerry answered, more enthusiastically than was his wont. "He's got the making of a good cow-horse in him."
