The stock-grower who has lived remote from the settlements, perhaps seeing no human being except the owner of a neighboring ranche for a year, looks upon the “outrider’s” visit as an event in his existence.
He is a most hospitable host, and for several days after his guest’s arrival no business is thought of, and a season of feasting, riding and hunting is observed. When this is over they begin their negotiations.
The herds are scanned over to get some idea of their condition, but the cattle are not carefully counted and weighed as stock is in the North. The herds are simply sold “as they run.” That is, the owner looks through his book to see how many cattle he has branded, and the “outrider” pays him so much for his brand, which entitles the buyer to all the cattle that he can find in scouring the prairies, which bear the purchased mark.
There is considerable sport and a great deal of hard, rough riding in getting the wild herds together and assorting them. It is in this work that the splendid horsemanship and wonderful skill with the lasso or lariat, of which so much has been written, are displayed by the Texas herder.
In a few days everything is in readiness, and the herds are started on their long Northern march.
‘The Outrider.’
A route is selected which affords the best pasturage, and is most convenient to the streams, as it is essential that the cattle should reach the end of the drive in prime condition for the market.
There are few incidents to enliven the wearisome weeks that follow. The herds browze leisurely along from six to ten miles a day, following the winding courses of the creeks and rivers, the herders following lazily after to keep them in the general direction northward.
For days and days human habitations are lost sight of, and the droves and riders are alone in the midst of the great, grassy ocean. Not quite alone, either—I came near forgetting that bright and cheerful companion of the drove, the cow-bird, a brown little fellow about the size of the well-known chipping-sparrow, or “chippy,” as the boys call him. Flitting along on the outskirts of the drove, one moment tilting gleefully on a tall, swaying weed, the next perching saucily on the tip of a steer’s horns, perhaps at night roosting complacently on his back, the cow-bird goes through the long journey from the Texas plains to the stock-pens at the Kansas railroad station, whence the cattle are shipped to the east. Whether the little fellows return to Texas to accompany the next herd, or die of grief at separation from their long-horned friends, I cannot say; but I think they must go back, for their cheerful presence is never missed, and their number never grows less.