"I remember one night of that kind. We were holding the cattle, but it was blowing and raining some, and the herd was drifting along behind us, like it did night before last. There were several of us in front of the cattle; we could hear each other when we called, but we couldn't see each other, nor anything else. There was some lightning—very bright. I had just turned my horse to look back and try to see by the lightning flashes if any of the cattle were slipping by us and getting away, when all at once the lightning struck right in the middle of the bunch. There was about seventeen hundred head of 'em, and for a second it was just like day and I saw the whole bunch. I saw the bolt fall. It seemed to me that the whole middle was knocked out of the herd. I thought I saw two hundred head of cattle drop. They fell in every direction. The cattle didn't run, but that lightning killed seven head.
"After the storm had passed, we turned the cattle and drove 'em back to a bed ground, close to where they'd started from."
"Well, I've been handling cattle for a good while," said McIntyre, "and I've no idea what makes cattle stampede. Anything may cause one, and then again there are times when you couldn't stampede a bunch if you tried."
[CHAPTER XIX]
COW HORSES AND THEIR WORK
The next day they were cutting again. Donald was active and tried to help, though he accomplished but little because he lacked real knowledge of the work. But if he did not himself do much, he at least saw many things done.
Of these one of the most interesting was Vicente's handling of a fighting steer. Charley Powell had cut out and was trying to drive the animal, but it stopped to fight. It would not move but stood and faced the horse and rider. Presently Vicente came up and, after a word or two with Charley, rode around behind the steer while Charley ran his horse close by the animal's head to try to make it charge. On his second dash by it the steer put down its head and rushed after the horse, but before it had made half a dozen jumps Vicente's rope had passed over its horns. He wound the rope around his saddle-horn and as he drew the rein his horse set its forelegs and braced itself in real picture-book fashion; the rope tightened and the steer turned a somersault and slammed down on the earth with tremendous force. Vicente sprang from the saddle, leaving the little horse bearing back with all its weight against the rope to hold the steer, ran forward to the animal and in a moment, as it seemed, had hog-tied it. It was then left on the prairie to think the matter over, while Vicente and Charley Powell went off to their work.
That night about the fire, Donald could not say enough in praise of the work of the cow horses and their seeming understanding of what was required of them; and the others assented to his enthusiastic declaration that a well-broken cow horse is interesting to watch and shows great intelligence in doing its part of the work of handling the cattle. Joe and Vicente, however, said little, but at length in response to some direct appeal Joe said:
"Well, boys, there's no denying that these horses know a heap, and that some of 'em do their work mighty well. I expect if it wasn't for the horses there wouldn't be any cattle business; but honest, and without wanting to blow off my country or any other country, you ought to see the horses in the South, whether it's southern California, or Texas. I think maybe they're not always as strong as the mountain horses up here, but they're a whole lot quicker. What's more, it seems to me they understand their work better and do it better; and if that's so, here's one reason for it: The cattle down there are different—at least they used to be in old times, and I reckon they are yet. Most of you know what an old-fashioned Texas long-horn is: mostly head, horns and legs—light, quick on his feet, and a great hand to dodge. Now those Texas horses, and the southern California horses too, have been broke to handle these cattle; and to be any good they've got to be fast, quick to turn and ready to meet any move the steer makes. Up here, you've got a great deal better class of cattle: they're heavier and make better beef, and that means that they're slower—more like barnyard cattle. They don't handle themselves anything like what those Texans do. Texas cattle put the horse and his rider more on their mettle than these grade cattle. They call for greater quickness and readiness; and though I am a Wyoming cowboy now, I'm bound to say that the best cow hands I've ever seen have been down in the South and Southwest."