CHAPTER XVIII.
A MIDNIGHT STAMPEDE.
On a wide flat the round-up outfit commenced working the big bunch. As the cutters-out dart here and there, whirling, dodging, and following, the small individual bunches slowly increase in size, while the main bunch correspondingly dwindles.
John and his Lightning work away with other riders until only the nucleus of the herd remains, and in five minutes this too has vanished. Each outfit pauses to rest a few minutes before the counting and branding begin; in the meantime Jerry is coaxing the fire in which the branding irons are heating.
"What'll you give for the buckskin now?" said John with pardonable pride, as he drove in the last animal bearing the XXX brand.
"He'll do; but I want to see you rope with him before I take back all I've said," answered Jerry, "He cuts out pretty well, but you get a calf on your string and the string under his tail and he'll dizzy you," and Jerry began to poke the fire, chuckling the while.
"Oh, you're jokin'; I can ride him now without stirrups. I tell you he's a broke horse."
"The iron is hot now," broke in Jerry, as he rolled up his sleeves. "Let's see what your horse can do. Bring in your calves."
It was John's duty, with two other men, to rope the calves belonging to his ranch by the hind legs and yank them along the smooth grass to the branding fire, where Jerry applied the hot iron. He started Lightning on a run to rope the first calf, eager to prove his horse's ability.
One sleek little fellow stood on the edge of the XXX bunch, gazing in wonder at the horse and his rider. Doubtless the calf thought this a strange creature, able to separate into two parts and reunite without the slightest inconvenience. John went straight for it and broke off its cogitations suddenly by whirling his rope and throwing it under the little fellow. The calf started and jumped into the loop, and John quickly drew the rope tight, pulling its hind legs from under it and throwing the little animal heavily. Lightning was checked and the calf rolled over and began to struggle and bleat piteously. A green horse is nearly always frightened the first time he pulls on a rope: he does not understand it, and Lightning was no exception to the rule. The rope touched his shifty hind legs and he kicked out with all his might; it rubbed harder as the calf struggled, and the horse began to whirl and plunge viciously in his efforts to get rid of the line that scraped his sensitive sides.
DRAGGED IT UP TO THE FIRE.
... WHILE THE IRON WAS APPLIED. ([Page 292.])
Fortunately the little creature got loose at this juncture and escaped. True to prediction, the rope got, under "Lite's" tail and now the fun commenced in earnest. He bucked as he had never bucked before, and all but stood on his head. The other outfits stopped work for the moment to see the sport.
Lightning fairly foamed in his rage and fear; he bucked continuously, and every time he struck the ground he gave a hoarse squeal—shrill and wicked. John's strength was sorely tried; but after his boasting it would never do to be "piled up," so he set his teeth and vowed he would stick, no matter what happened. The fury of the effort made it a short one, but it seemed to John plenty long enough, for during the five minutes the saddle was like unto a hurricane deck in a raging sea. But through it all John came out triumphant. In the words of a bystander: "The little horse bellered and bucked and the kid never pulled leather" (did not hold on to the horn of his saddle). Which was high praise from a cow-puncher to a cow-puncher.
"What'll you take for him?" called Jerry, as John dismounted to untangle the rope from "Lite's" heels.
"Money can't buy him," was the reply. John was bruised and stiff, but his pride was not broken and his faith in his horse was undiminished, though it must be confessed it had received a severe shock. "He'll bring that calf in or I'll kill him tryin'," he said sturdily, and he mounted "Lite" again and went back. He found the same calf, roped it, and "Lite," after a few futile plunges, dragged it up to the fire, where he stood with heaving, sweat-covered sides while the iron was applied. The hard lesson had been taught and learned for all time.
"He's got the making of a good cow-horse," admitted Jerry. "But, oh Lord! such a making!"
The way John worked the little horse that day would have seemed cruel to a novice, but he intended that he should never forget the experience of the morning, and he never did. The last calf was branded at dusk, and by the time this necessary torture was completed poor "Lite" was about done up.
The bunch was allowed its freedom for another year and the cattle began at once to wander off, the old cows licking the disfigured sides of their offspring, the calves shaking and writhing with pain, failing utterly to understand why they should be tortured thus. The wound soon heals, however, and though the soreness disappears the scar remains always.
The day's work was over; the coolness of evening succeeded the heat of the day; the men stopped work and rode slowly into camp by star-light.
John and Jerry unsaddled their tired horses and turned them over to the care of the night herder.
"I'm dead tired, stiff, and sore to-night," said John, as he and his companion hustled for cups and plates in the dish box.
"It's a dog's life," returned Jerry, taking the cue. "If I'm ever caught on a round-up again I hope they'll tie me on a broncho and turn him loose." He grumbled on as he sipped his steaming coffee.
The two ate heartily and then strolled over to the main campfire, where perhaps fifty men lay sprawling upon the ground smoking, talking, and resting.
"Hullo, there's the three X kid!" some one shouted. "How's the legs, kid?" "How d'ye like astronomy?" said another.
And so the bantering went round, but John took it good-naturedly and even responded in kind. Soon a song was started, but the men were too tired to listen, and the singer stopped for lack of encouragement. About two hours after the day's work had ended all hands were rolled up in their beds and asleep, Jerry ending this first day on the round-up as he began it—grumbling.
"Cow-punching is a job for a Chinaman," said he, dropping off to sleep. It was the most scathing condemnation his imagination could frame.
This was but the first of a succession of days much alike, some easier, some harder, some full of incident and narrow escapes, others less exciting. The long dry spell had given way to a series of rainy days that were harder to bear than heat and dust. The wind-driven rain had a penetrating quality that nothing could withstand. The rider, after being in the rain all day, came into camp to find his bed saturated. The trying weather affected tempers, not only of the men but of their charges, the cattle, as well; they were nervous and restless, and this was especially true when electricity was in the air. As Jerry had said, it was "regular stampede weather."
John had seen small bunches of stock break and run, and had followed them over ticklish country, but a big stampede had not yet been numbered among his experiences. He had often sat listening to some old veteran of the range tell of the horrors of a midnight stampede, when the great herds became an irresistible torrent of animal life driven on by unreasoning terror.
He knew that some time he would become an actor in such a scene and dreaded it in anticipation.
The sky was threatening when the riders were sent out one day to make the "big circle," as the gathering of cattle was called, a week or so after the organization of the round-up. By the time the bunch was collected it was raining heavily, and at intervals hailstones pelted man and beast viciously. The bunch was large that day, and as the storm continued the ground became too slippery and the cattle too crazy to attempt to work them. Nothing could be done but hold them together until things dried up a bit. The nervousness of the cattle was such that this required the activity of all hands.
John and Jerry were out in all this stress of weather, and, strange as it may seem, the older cowboy was almost happy: he had a really new and good chance for grumbling. "Even a coyote can hunt his hole and keep dry, but a cow-puncher has to sit up straight and take his medicine," said Jerry, almost triumphant in his feeling of just resentment. "The worse the weather the more he has to brave it," he continued. "If I'm ever caught on a round-up——"
"That's the tenth time you've said that to-day," said John, laughing in spite of his own discomfort. Jerry made a queer picture. His long, yellow oilskin slicker reached to his heels and was just running with water; the felt hat that almost entirely obscured his woebegone features dripped water down his neck. He looked as forlorn as an equestrian statue decorated with cheap bunting and paper flowers and thoroughly water-soaked.
Everybody was out of humor and no opportunity was lost to register a "kick."
"Say, you three X men," said the foreman, "scatter out there; d'yer take this for a conversation party?"
"The horses is stupid and the cattle is worst. If I don't miss my guess there'll be trouble to-night. If ever I get caught in a——" Jerry's voice died away in a mere growl as he rode off to his post.
Left alone, John turned his eyes to the sea of backs swirling up and down and around like an eddy in a troubled sea. Even now the half-crazed animals threatened to break through the frail line of men and scatter to the four winds.
And still the driving rain continued. A night in the saddle was inevitable—a dreary enough prospect. As evening drew near, flashes of lightning and peals of thunder added to the terror of the almost unmanageable cattle.
"Look at 'em steam," said John to himself, as he noted the vapor that rose from the acres of broad backs. "That's bad," said Jerry, as he came within earshot on his beat. "Steam brings down the lightning, men are high on horseback; steel saddles, metal spurs, six-shooters, and buckles make a man liable to catch it," and he disappeared in the mist, droning out as he went a verse of "The Grass of Uncle Sam" to quiet the cattle. It seemed futile to attempt to soothe the creatures by the sound of the human voice—they were in a tumult, and the slightest thing would set them off. For an instant there was a lull, and not only Jerry's but the voices of other riders could be distinctly heard singing and calling quietly to the cattle.
Suddenly there came a fearful flash directly overhead and streams of liquid fire seemed to flow in every direction. This was followed immediately by a tremendous clap of thunder. The effect was instantaneous. Each animal seemed to be possessed of a demon and rushed headlong in whichever direction its head happened to be pointed. In an instant the orderly herd was changed to a panic-stricken rout, and the riders were swept irresistibly with it. The lightning flash was blinding, and the darkness which ensued was intense; through this men and beast rushed pell-mell without a pause, recklessly.
John, with the other riders, was in the very midst of the mad, surging creatures, their eyes rolling in a perfect frenzy of fear, their very breaths in his face, their horns rattling together close beside and in front of him. It was every man for himself, but even in the midst of this frightful chaos the cow-puncher's sole thought was for his stock. John looked for a bunch to follow—to follow to death if need be, but if possible stop it. That was the plan in John's mind, but it seemed utterly impossible of fulfilment. There was no bunch; each animal for once went off on its own hook and the confusion was fearful.
"I'll follow one then," said John to himself. Then to his horse: "Stand up now, old 'Lite.' If you fall you're a goner."
One big steer alongside ran strongly, and John let "Lite" know that it in particular was to be followed. He couldn't be seen in the darkness, but "Lite" could smell him and kept at his flank. Away they went through mud and sage brush, over badger holes and boggy places. What lay in their path was a mystery, but "Lite" stuck to his leader like a leech. There was no time to reckon chances, if such a thing were possible.
As vapor forms into raindrops, the running cattle began to draw together into groups which enlarged momentarily. John was now following one of these groups, but in the pitchy darkness he could not tell how many it numbered. As pursued and pursuers rushed on, the smooth, rolling prairie was left behind, and rough, broken country was encountered. Up steep-sided gullies they struggled and down slippery hillsides they scrambled after the terror-stricken cattle. "Now's our chance," said John, speaking, as was his wont under strong excitement, to his horse and patting his neck in encouragement for the supreme effort that was to come. He spurred to the front and began to turn the leaders around. He struck them on the nose with his quirt, slapped them with his hat, and yelled at them.
Slowly one leader, then another, turned; others immediately behind followed, until the leader caught up with the tail of the bunch and round they went in a circle. "They're milling beautifully now, 'Lite,'" said John to his horse again. "We'll keep 'em at it till they're too tired for funny business."
The circle gradually slowed to a trot, then a walk, then stopped altogether. The cattle were utterly exhausted, heads down, sides heaving and steaming.
John leaned over in his saddle and patted his little horse affectionately. His feeling was one of fondness mixed with gratitude for the pony whose wiry limbs, sure feet, good bottom and intelligence had carried him safely through a difficult and dangerous duty. He thought of what had passed, and marvelled that he was alive. To make such a journey amid the tossing horns and thundering feet of the cattle, over treacherous ground, in total darkness, seemed an impossible feat, and yet here were horse and rider covered with mud, saturated with water, almost unbearably weary, it is true, but without a scratch. John began to realize the danger, now it had passed, and appreciated the fact that to his game little horse was his safety due. "Lite" received the caressing pat on his nose and the words of praise his master gave him with commendable modesty.
The cattle were willing now to stand and rest; they all were trembling with fear and exhaustion and seemed in no condition to continue their flight. "Lite," too, was pretty well done up, so John dismounted and unsaddled him; then, after putting one blanket over him, he wrapped himself in the other and lay down in the mud to sleep. It was cold and sopping wet, but John's inward satisfaction made outward discomfort trivial.
The hours were long before daylight—longer, the boy thought, than he ever knew them to be before. He was glad enough when the sun came and he was able to size up his capture. They numbered fifty head, and proud enough he was.
"Lite" was feeding near; at John's call he came up and, without his usual capers, allowed himself to be saddled. The two started the bunch toward camp—weary, hungry, sleepy, wet, and cold, but triumphant.
"My first stampede and back with fifty head," said John to his horse. "Not bad work, and I couldn't have done it but for you."
The storm had spent itself during the night and morning broke gloriously fine. John and Lightning kept the cattle going as fast as their strength would allow, which was all too slow for the boy, who was anxious to show his work to Jerry—his chum, his friend and counsellor, Jerry the grumbler, the good-hearted. He knew that he would appreciate it, though he might joke.
As the bunch appeared on a little rise a short distance from camp, a horseman galloped out to meet them and to help drive them into camp. "Hullo, kid!" said the man, when he got within earshot. "You've done pretty well; biggest bunch that's come in yet."
"Oh, I've had a great old time," John began jubilantly, feeling as if he had not seen a human being for a month and must talk. "See that big spotted steer there, leadin'? Well, I follered that feller eight miles in the dark last night an' he set me a red-hot pace, you bet—but the buckskin here," patting Lite's mud-spattered shoulder, "followed him close all the way."
"Well, you look it; got enough mud on yer to weigh down a team of iron horses."
"How many cattle back?" asked John.
"Only 'bout half the bunch."
"That's too bad," sympathized the boy.
"That's not the worst."
The man stopped, and John noticed for the first time a peculiar expression on his face.
"What's the matter?" said he.
"One of your men——" he hesitated.
"Well?"
"One of your men," he repeated, "went down last night."
"It wasn't Jerry?" cried John anxiously, having a premonition suddenly of something dreadful. "Say it wasn't Jerry!"
"Yes, it was Jerry." The man spoke the words slowly and solemnly. "Horse's leg went into a badger hole and the cattle trampled him."
