Jack the Young Cowboy: An Eastern Boy's Experiance on a Western Round-up

by George Bird Grinnell

"I see what you mean; and I guess you're right about it," conceded Jack.

One of the other boys had come up while they were talking.

"Yes," he said, "Joe has got it straight, all right; and I never have been able to find out anything more about it than he has. I've heard old cow men talk about it, too, but I've never heard one of them say that he could understand it. Joe's telling about seeing a bunch of stock start when a boy lit a match, reminds me of a time when I saw a bunch run just because a fellow threw down his cigarette. If a bunch of cattle is ready to run, it seems as if 'most anything would start 'em. You talk to any old cow man about this and you'll get a whole lot of facts, but mighty few reasons."

All day long the cattle moved on over the rolling hills. Often the wagons and cávaya could be seen at no very great distance; and at last, late in the afternoon, the camp was sighted and the boys took the stock down below it on the creek, let them drink, and then feed slowly back into the hills. They were kept pretty well together all the time, but would not, of course, be bedded down until near sunset. Jack and Joe stopped here with the herd, while the other boys went into camp to get their supper. They would then come out again to bed down the cattle, and be relieved a little later by the regular night herders. The cattle were hungry, and were feeding greedily. They needed little or no looking after; and the boys, riding to the top of a hill, got off their horses and, throwing down their reins and holding the ends of their ropes, let the saddle horses feed about them. As they sat there talking about various things, Joe happened to speak of southern California, and the way the Mexicans rode and handled cattle, and as they talked he told Jack something of his past life.

"My father," he said, "came out with one of the early emigrant trains with his brothers and sisters, his father and mother having a nice little outfit of their own. Somehow or other, when they were crossing through the mountains in the late fall, just before reaching California, they got separated from the main train, and got off in a little pocket by themselves, and didn't seem to be able to find their way out of it. I never rightly understood how it was, for my father died when I was a little fellow, but it seems that they got up there and the snow was so deep that they could not get out. Their stock was getting poor and they didn't have enough provisions to last them through the winter. I've heard my grandmother tell how grandfather worried about what he ought to do, and how at last he made up his mind that he had to go down to the main trail and get help, or else they would all starve to death. He made himself a pair of snowshoes, left his rifle with his wife, took one day's grub, and started to try to find the trail. My grandmother didn't want him to go a bit; she was afraid that he would get lost, and then they'd be worse off than ever. If they had to die, she wanted all of them to die together.

"He started off and did get lost, but, somehow or other, he managed to get down near to the trail, and was found by a man who was hunting deer for a little train that was coming along. That train was all right. It went into camp and the men started out and broke a way up into the little valley where my grandmother was, and brought down the whole outfit and took them on to California. There my grandfather got work and did pretty well, and when my father grew up he went down near Los Angeles, and took up a ranch there, and we have always been comfortably off. But I always wanted to ride a horse rather than go to school, and as soon as I was big enough I got work with one of the cattle companies down there, and I've been punching cows ever since. Of course I was a big fool not to go to school and get a good education instead of just being able to read and write, as I am now; but I've seen a lot of work with cows, and, I tell you, some of those greasers down there can stay with a horse and handle a rope better than any man you ever see in this country."

"I expect they're mighty fine riders, Joe; and in the old times, when there were cattle all over the country there, 'most all the men must have been great cow hands, just as I suppose they are now in Mexico. Every fellow was put on a horse as soon as he was able to toddle, and I suppose he stayed with it until he was an old man."

"Yes, if he didn't get killed before he grew old. Hold on, Jack! Watch those bulls down there!" Joe exclaimed. "I think we're going to have a scrap!"