After the leaders of the herd generally follow the young stock,—the yearlings and two-year-olds,—with the fat dry cows scattered along the line; then the multitude of cows followed by calves; and last the lagging new-born calves, attended and coaxed along by fussy old mothers.
After the men have rushed into camp to swallow the noonday meal and have hurried back to the herd, the hardest and most interesting part of the day’s work begins,—that is, the “cutting out,” or sorting, the cattle of those brands which it is desired to separate from the promiscuous multitude. In the “general round-up” of the early summer the branding of the young stock is the chief business; but in this gathering the object is to separate certain cattle to be driven away to new grazing-grounds in the northern Territories. As we are riding out with the herders returning to their work, suddenly the body from head to foot is suffused with a sense of relief and refreshment, as when water touches a parched throat; for, after eight hours of scorching heat, a cloud has drifted across the sun as he begins his descent. It is only in such an arid, shadeless region that the scriptural metaphor of a “shadow in a weary land” can have the full force which it had to its Asiatic author.
But now, as we came to the herd and turned to circle about it, the westward view was wonderfully changed. The background of mountains which in the morning had been so shadeless was now almost wholly in shadow. The cloud-puffs of an hour ago had spread and united into black canopies of storm-cloud. The range had assumed its darkest and most sublime aspect. As the eye runs up and down the long sweep of vision, here and there a white peak, flooded with sunshine from an unseen space between the storms, shines with an unearthly brightness amid the general blackness. Here and there the snowy head of a mountain looks out cold and wan through a transparent veil of showers. Every moment at some point along the rank of mountains a thunderbolt leaps across from cloud to peak with a quick shiver. A portentous darkness settles over the Great Divide. The pine-clad slopes are as black as night; the snowy summits leaden.
In contrast with the dark majesty of the background is the intense animation of the scene close at hand. Back and forth and round and round patrol the horsemen appointed to hold the cattle within certain boundaries. Men representing the owners of brands ride into the crowd of cattle, and, moving slowly about, observe the brand on every animal they pass. Usually a rider represents several owners. Catching sight of the brands for which they are looking, each man follows close at the heels of the cow he has selected, and, when she is near the edge of the herd, with a quick jump of his horse he tries to drive her beyond the boundaries. But commonly she detects his purpose, her gregarious instinct rebels, and with a quicker jump she is back again among her friends in the midst of the herd.
Then follows a hard chase around among the frightened cattle. Fifteen or twenty riders are soon in hot pursuit of their several brands. The whole herd is in commotion, with a general wheeling movement like a slow Maelstrom. The cattle are “ginning around,” they say. The din of a thousand bellowing voices grows more thunderous as the herd grows more uneasy. To watch this tossing sea of animal life is exciting in the highest degree. The horses, trained by long experience in the work, dash into it with the fire of a war-horse going to battle. They take evident pleasure in their superiority over the inferior intelligence of the cattle. The showy, barbaric costumes of the cow-boys, the exquisite feats of horsemanship, the excitement of the horses warming to their work, the occasional dexterous use of the lasso in subduing some animal at bay, all the rush and tumult, the roar and shouting, the grace of muscular men and animals in swift motion, make up a spectacle so stirring and picturesque that all other exhibitions of equestrian skill seem tame in comparison.
As the cattle one by one are “cut out,” they are taken in charge by the outside riders and driven away to swell the herd of those already gathered, which is grazing less than a mile away. After two hours of work, while the commotion seems still as violent as ever, the captain suddenly shouts the order, “Turn ’em loose!” The cry passes along, the guards draw to one side, the liberated cattle move quickly away, first in a body, then in a long scattering line, and the stillness of the desert succeeds the uproar. In the mean time, the camp has been broken up and the train of wagons has moved up the river eight or ten miles to fix a centre for the next day’s work. There is little difference between one day and another. The same operation of “circling in” and “cutting out” will be repeated till every acre of ground in the allotted district has been traversed. In the “general round-ups” of the spring each district contains several thousand square miles, and the work continues for six weeks or more. In this way a belt of country equal in length to the distance from Portland to Savannah is swept over by the “round-ups” every year.
Before this nomadic life of the Plains has been drained of its picturesque elements by the advance of civilization, I hope that some painter may arise who can grasp and worthily fix on canvas this most picturesque scene of American life,—one with the skill of a Church to paint the mountains and the genius of a Bonheur to catch the beauty of free animal existence. It should be a great picture, for in its distance would stand the continent’s mountainous head crowned with its shining diadem, while in the nearer view there would be every attitude of bold horsemanship, every phase of intense muscular activity, brilliancy of costumes, the charm of wild life, the beauty of freedom.