Bat Wing Bowles

by Dane Coolidge

Very slowly now he plodded along behind his bunch of cattle, riding back and forth as he picked up strays, and driving them all to some common center. To the right and left, and far across to distant hills, he could see lone men at their task, and the great plain became dotted with cattle as the circle closed in on the grounds. A hundred cow-trails, sinuous as snake-tracks, led in to this place they all sought, and when the lowing strings of cattle met it was on the flat by a dammed-up lake. There the herds were thrown together, carefully so that no mother should lose her calf; and while they stood them upon the cutting-ground the wrangler brought up his horses, and each man caught out a fresh mount.

Nowhere in all his work is the mastery of the cowboy more apparent than when he changes horses on the open plain. The great remuda of over two hundred horses was driven in on the gallop; then the cowboys rounded them up, and each man dropped to the ground. One by one they took down their ropes and threw the loose ends to their neighbors, and there in a minute's time was a corral that would hold the wildest outlaw, for a rope is the greatest terror of a cow-pony. It was a rope that fore-footed him when he was a colt, and bound him at the branding; every morning the long, snaky loops whizzed past their ears and dragged out those who must ride till they were ready to drop; and so, even though they had the power to brush the rope fence aside, the frightened horses huddled away from it and submitted to the noose.

Bowles was barred, for his Mother Hubbard roping threw the herd into a frenzy; so he saddled up for Brigham and let that doughty puncher drag out his mount. Then the cutting and branding began, and Henry Lee put him to flanking calves. Perhaps he, too, had heard of the tenderfoot's remarks about his daughter; or it may have been the original grouch; but Bowles knew from the look in his eye that he was elected to do his full share. So he labored on, trying to learn the tricks of the older flankers, and schooling himself to their stoical endurance.

A heavy wind came up, sweeping the dust across the flat in clouds, and still the cutters rode and roped. They ate dinner in relays, turning their backs to the storm and bolting their grimy food in silence, and hurried back to the herd. The sparks from the branding-fire flew fifty feet in a line, and the irons would hardly hold heat in the wind; but they carried the work through to the end. Then they moved the herd to harder ground, and cut it between the gusts, when every horse turned tail and the riders shut their eyes. The ones and twos were lumped together, the strays turned loose on the plain, and the outfit plodded on to the east, driving their cut before them.

That night they camped at a ranch, throwing down their beds in barns and sheds, and eating in the open. The next day they braved the wind and combed the distant mountain, riding far over the rocky slopes, and branding in a cañon. On the third day the wind brought up rain and sleet, and the mountains were powdered with snow, but the round-up moved on inexorably. Then the wind veered to the east and the air became bitter cold; Gloomy Gus could hardly cook for the gale that assaulted him, and the wrangler lost eight or ten horses; but still the hardy cowboys rode and cut and branded, for a round-up never stops for wind and weather.

As for Bowles, his face was peeled and swollen, his eyes half-blinded by dust and wind, his body chilled through in spite of his clothes, and he saw himself in that company like a child among grown-up men. Half of the cowboys left their coats on the wagon until the day of the blizzard; and Brigham was still in his shirt-sleeves, having rolled up his coat with his bed and forgotten to bring his slicker. Yet none of them railed at the weather; no one quit; it was their life. Perhaps from their earliest boyhood they had braved the Texas northers or endured the continual sandstorms of high and windy plains. They were used to it, like the horses that bore them; but Bowles was a more delicate plant. All he could do was to live on from day to day, wondering at their courage and hardihood, and marveling at his own presumption in thinking he could play at their game.

A week passed, and the wind grew warmer, though it still swept in from the southeast. The outfit reached the limit of its circle and turned toward home, sending its cuts of dogies on before it. On the first of May they were contracted to be delivered at Chula Vista, there to be shipped to Colorado and the Texas Panhandle and fattened into steers. But feed was short, for the cold had set back the grass, and Henry Lee had wired that he could deliver on the twentieth. So while he waited for an answer he sent his cattle ahead of him, and every day as he rode he watched for a messenger from home.

Nor was he alone in this, for the messenger would be Dixie; but no one said a word. It was part of the patience of these rugged sons of the desert that they should make no sign. They were camped in a grove of sycamores beneath the shelter of a hill, and the outfit was gathered about the fire, when she rode in at the end of the day. Each man of them regarded her silently as she carried the word to her father; and then, when he nodded his satisfaction, they stirred in expectation of her greeting.

"Howd-do, boys?" she said, vaulting lightly off her horse and coming nearer. "'Evening, Mr. Mosby; what's the chance for a little supper?"

She looked them all over casually as she drew off her gloves by the fire, and for a few minutes the conversation was confined to news. Then she went back to her saddle, and returned with a bundle of letters.