COW^9 Y Lnr E WESITEEKPLAINS TTie REMINISCENCES of ev RANCHMAN W, BANCROFT LIBRARY THE LIBRARY OF THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA COWBOY LIFE ON THE WESTERN PLAINS By EDGAR BEECHER BRONSON The Vanguard Cowboy Life on the Western Plains The Red-Blooded In Closed Territory GEORGE H. DORAN COMPANY NEW YORK Digitized by the Internet Archive in 2007 with funding from Microsoft Corporation http://www.archive.org/details/cowboylifeonwestOObronrich *Harry promptly look Tiaoo's pistol*' COWBOY LIFE on the WESTERN PLAINS The Reminiscences of a Ranchman BY EDGAR BEECH ER BRONSON AUTHOR OP THE RED-BLOODED. Etc **d «r m*k* ft 71# mrnUrnt •/ s mwktf — bmmhmg d*wn tkt fMftWt — tmrngmimmy AfAti •<** Imdismi rhrrt mm t*# prk* if Stfmt-tiu nmmJmp. G ROSSET & DUN LA P PUBLISHERS NEW YORK Copyright A. C. McCLURG & CO. 1010 Published September 10. 1010 Entered at Stationers' Hall, London. England Copyright, 1008, by The Pearson Publishing Company Copyright, 1008, by The McClure Company flUNTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA BANCROFT UBRARr TO THE MEMORY OP ^ CLARENCE KING, fr- ills RANCH PARTNER AND LIPELONO FRIEND, AND TO THAT OP TEX (R. PULLER) AND SAM CRESS, REST COWBOYS HE EVER KNEW AND THE STANCHEST MATES HE EVER HAD. THE AUTHOR APPECTIONATELY DEDICATES THIS BOOK 8 X o t CONTENTS pumi I A Desert Spobt »AOK 3 II The Making of a Cowboy . 23 III The Tenderfoot's Trials . 52 IV The Tenderfoot's First Hero . 74 V A Cowboy Mutiny . . 93 VI Wintering Among Rustlers . . 107 VII A Finish Fight for a Birthrigih . 127 Mil McGillicuddy's Sword . . 198 XI Thk Last Great Sun Dance . 221 X End of the Trail (Cowboy Logic Frolic) : AND . 252 XI Concho Curly at the Op'ra . . 274 XII Adios to Deadman . . 291 XIII A Cheyenne Warrior-Historian . . 315 XIV The Conqueror of Mount Tyndaj ll . 325 Appendix . 861 COWBOY LIFE ON THE WESTERN PLAINS REMINISCENCES OF A RANCHMAN CHAPTER ONE A DESERT SPOKT AH, yea, indeed, my boy, you are quite right /% My years in the Sic r raj and plains of Cali- JL JL fornia, Oregon, and Nevada were the hap- p i a tt I have ever known or ever expect to know. M Science I love, but geology U the only branch of science that could have held me to its active, per- sistent pursuit. " For me the study or the laboratory would have been utterly impossible. 44 The working geologist, on the contrary, dwells in close contact with Nature in her wildest and most savage moods. He seeks the solution of his problems where vast dynamic forces have in past ages crumpled the earth's crust and brought huge mountain ranges into being — ranges that expose its structure and tell much from which we may deduce how its structure was accomplished. 44 Our tasks take us out across the rolling yellow billows of the plains, through the profound silences REMINISCENCES OF A RANCHMAN of burning deserts, whose colours would fire the artist's brain to frenzy, up into the magnificent up- lifts of the Sierras, with their singing brooks and roaring torrents, their majestic redwoods and fra- grant pines, their smiling, flowery glades and sinister bald summits, their warm, sheltered nooks and grim, pitiless glaciers — out beyond civilisation and settle- ments, where to sustain himself man must confront the raw forces of animate and inanimate nature, as did our forebears of the stone age, and conquer or succumb. It is a life that develops weird types, and it is of one of these I am about to tell you." The speaker was Clarence King, one of the intel- lectual princes of the earth, with a stout berserker heart set in a breast tender of sentiment as a wom- an's, a man whose friends were many as the folk he- knew. It was in 1875. He was then engaged in compiling, from his notes, the reports and maps of the field work on the 40th Parallel which, scientifically, remain his greatest monument, assisted in this work by S. F. Emmons, Jas. T. Gardiner, and Arnold Hague, his field staff. On the introduction and recommendation of John Hay, then lately returned from service as Minister to Spain, and at the time an editorial writer on The [4] A DESERT SPORT Tribune % King had employed me as a sort of secre- tary to assist in the publication of the reports. We were spending the summer in Newport, living and working in the old hip- roofed house at the corner I lurch and High Streets that had belonged to his aunt, Caroline King, a house bright with the rich fabrics, grim with the weird carvings and porcelains and fragrant with the strange scents of the Far East, where King's father and two uncles were the first American traders, and where all three lost their lives most tragically. It was during a lull in the work — and the lulls came often and sometimes lasted through many work- ing hours; came often as a new stage of the notes reached reminded him of battles fought and won in his struggles for the mastery of old Paleozoic secrets — thirsting in the Bad Lands, scorching in the Mojavc Desert, slipping on glacial slopes of Mt. Whitney, leaping crevasses on Mt. Rainier, struggles with broncos, fights with grizzlies, scraps with In- dians — tales to fire the love of adventure latent in most youngsters ; tales that fired mine and turned the tables of my life, turned me from the newspaper work then my trade and made me mount a train the very day after my work with him was finished, ticketed straight away to Cheyenne. [5] REMINISCENCES OF A RANCHMAN " It was while I was with Brewer," King resumed. " We had finished a season's field work and were jour- neying across the Humboldt Desert, with a pack out- fit, to our California headquarters. " The Indians were bad that year, and we had with us a small escort of ten cavalrymen. " Our two packers, besides being worthy knights of the Diamond Hitch, were otherwise accomplished. " Fresno Pete was a half-breed Mexican vaquero, earlier famous from the Fresno to the Sacramento as a bronco buster. Many the time on dias de fissta, at some rancho or placita of the San Joaquin Valley, sloe-eyed senoritas smiled, silver-girt sombreros were tossed in air, many-coloured rebosos waved, and lusty bravos shouted in compliment to some victory of Fresno Pete's over all comers, vaqueros and horses alike — and the San Joaquin was for many years famous for breeding the wildest broncos and best busters in the State. " Faro Harry was a Virginia City gambler, a graceful, supple figure, sinuous of movement as a snake, quick as a cat, and of a superhuman dexterity with a pistol, who, by his own reserved account, had sought service with us for his health. But from ob- servation of his perfect physique and some knowledge of the high esteem in which he was held by Virginia's [6] A DESERT SPORT undertakers, Harry's real motive for absenting him- self from the rich pickings of mine owners' private rolls and pay rolls, and contenting himself with a packer's modest pay, was surmised by our party to lie in the fact that the local Virginia * Boot Hill ' (especially reserved to the occupancy of gentlemen who had passed out of this life with their boots on) was full to overflowing, suggesting temporary sus- pension of his recreations until a contemplated addi- tion to the 4 Hill ' could be made ready. 44 We had been on very scant rations of water for forty-eight hours, our throats and nostrils parched and our skin cracked by the fierce heat and blinding sands of the desert. It was, therefore, with the great- est satisfaction we pitched camp early one afternoon in the little clump of cottonwoods about Antelope Spring, the only water on the desert trail, and by turns buried our faces in its cool depths and lolled in the shade its waters fed. 44 Tlie spring was then held, by right of occupancy at least, if by no better title, by Old Man Tison, a hunter well-nigh sixty, but strong and active as in his youth — a tall, gaunt, sinewy man, with a shock of iron-gray hair falling over the collar of his buckskin shirt ; great festoons, that looked like Spanish moss pendent from his dun, close-set, fierce gray eyes glar- VI REMINISCENCES OF A RANCHMAN ing out from ambush beneath other clusters of gray moss, with hands like hams and moccasined feet that left a trail that ' looked like where a bunch of deer had bedded,' in the vernacular of the region. " Tison's cabin stood perhaps fifty yards from the spring, and there he had dwelt I don't know how many years, with a Pah-Ute squaw for a helpmeet, and seven or eight half-breeds, of assorted sizes, as incidents. He had a few cows and piebald cay use ponies, but subsisted himself chiefly by selling water and venison to overland travellers, for wayfarers on the desert had as little time to hunt meat as they had opportunity to get water. " Not long after we pitched camp, refreshed by the water and the shade, I strolled over toward Tison's cabin, for he had not yet been near us. As I ap- proached the cabin, a great, fierce yellow dog, evi- dently of a strong mastiff strain, sprang out at me, snarling and snapping viciously. No one showed at the door or the one window of the cabin. Glad of re- lief from its weight, I had left my pistol belt in camp. Thus I was confronting the dog with bare hands, too far from the door to make it before he could seize me, without even stick or stone in reach, and yet reluctant to call for help from his heedless owner. " In this dilemma, waiting till the dog dashed up A DESERT SPORT almost upon me, I made a spring, seized him by either jowl, gave him a violent shaking for a moment, and then, releasing one hand, patted him on the head and spoke to him quietlj. 44 First the savage wrinkles began to smooth out of his face, then his tail started a friendly wag, and the next thing I knew his great paws were on my shoul- ders, and he was fawning upon me as violently as a few seconds before he had threatened. Just at this very moment old Tison himself stepped to the door. He must have heard the snarling and barking, but had seen none of the earlier stages of the incident. 44 * Fine dog you have, sir,* I called * Must be a ■plldiri watch dog. 9 44 4 Hell he is. I sorta thort he was. Say, stranger, 9 he asked, * did yu-all ever see that thar dog befo 9 ? Were he raited wi* yu, or any thin 9 thataway? 9 44 4 Why no, I never set tyes on him until tliis very minute. Has a nice, kind temper, hasn't he? 9 44 4 Wall, stranger, sence yu *pcar t* think so much o 9 him 9 n 9 he o 9 yu, he 9 s y 9 urn. Stranger, by no man ever handled that thar dog befo 9 but me, V I won't have airy d n dog 9 t airy other feller kin handle, 9 he snapped, in a growl as surly and threaten- ing as his dog's. 4 What 9 n hell the use o 9 a d n [9] REMINISCENCES OF A RANCHMAN dog 't airy fool stranger 't comes along kin handle? Might 's well have a passle o' sheep round,' he added, after a moment's pause. " ' Suppose you and your dog take a running jump for — Yuma,' I suggested, turned back to camp, told Brewer and the boys the incident, and received their congratulations on the cordiality of my reception by the lord of this desert manor. " And before the laugh at my expense had ceased, a shot rang out from the direction of the cabin, and, looking, we could see the dog's great tawny length writhing in death throes on the sand ! " A half hour later, Tison strolled over to our camp fire, drawled a gruff ' Howdy,' with a compre- hensive nod, and stood for some time staring sullenly in the fire. Presently he spoke: " ■ Boys, yi: -all's done handled my dog, but I want to tell yu I'm the d dst best bronco buster 't ever forked a twister, V I got a cayuse 'ts sech plumb p'ison 't nobody's ever sot him fer keeps but me. Ef thar was airy man in this yere camp as thinks he's th* reel thing in buckjeros, I'd admire t' see him fork that thar cayuse. O' course, I cain't promise nuthin' t' his widder, 'cept that th' remains will be gathered 'n' planted wi' cer'monies.* " This challenge was nothing short of joy to Fres- [10] A DESERT SPORT no Pete, who for weeks had been showering rolling Spanish expletives upon the steady pack train mule he rode for its unbearable docility. 44 ' Meestar Teeson,' Pete promptly spoke up, * I weell have much gusto try for ride your horse. He keel me — bumo, no import a, for I no have woman, me. But, cava jo! I much more like keel him. Injun cayuse never foaled can t'row Pete.' "Without another word, Tison strode off to his house, and soon a couple of little half-breeds were scurrying out over some low sand hills, from behind which they shortly drove in and penned seven or eight ponies. As they entered, Pete picked up his riata, bridle and saddle, and started for the pen, followed by every man in camp, including the cook. 44 Arrived, Pete entered and joined Tison, while the rest of us distributed ourselves along the top rails of the corral fence. 44 4 Stranger,' growled Tison, 4 ef you hain't got no mammy o* neah kin folk 't '11 miss yu none, yu might drop yu rope on that thar split-eared pinto, V ef yu cain't git yu' saddle on him, jes' call on th' ole man ' — and then he, too, discreetly climbed the fence. 44 The pinto indicated was an unusually stocky build for an Indian pony, heavier than the average by two hundred pounds, lacking the usual long barrel, REMINISCENCES OF A RANCHMAN ewe neck and light quarters of his breed — a powerful beast for his inches. " The moment the lariat noose tightened on his neck, he charged at Pete like a thunderbolt, with mouth open, teeth bared, and such a look of fury on his face that, to Tison's great delight, and the gen- eral amusement of the crowd, Pete made a hasty and ignominious ascent of the fence. " Then Pete slipped down from the fence, caught the end of the trailing rope, and sought to snub it about a snubbing post. But he was too slow. Before he could reach it the pinto was almost upon hi in, reared on its hind legs, prepared to strike, and Pete had to shift tactics. " Just as the pinto struck, Pete side-stepped and sprang back fifteen or twenty feet, and then, as the pinto again reared, Pete threw a half-hitch circle in his rope that ran rapidly up the rope till it neatly l m ircled both forefeet, made a quick run to one side, and gave a stout pull, and brought the pinto to the ground. Before he could rise, Pete lit on him and soon had the wicked hind hoofs safely half-hitched, and all four feet securely bound together in the * hog-tie.' " After tliat, it was only a matter of a little time to saddle and bridle him, while he thus lay bound upon the ground. [12] A DESERT SPORT 44 Then Pete placed his left foot in the stirrup and stood astride the horse, seized reins and saddle horn in his right hand, reached down with his left and re- leased the bound feet, and the pinto rose under him, with Pete firmly settled in the saddle. 44 4 Huh! ' grunted old Tison, 4 thinks he's d n smart, don't he? Wait till th* pinto lites in to drive his backbone up thru th' top o* his haid, V ef she ain't case-hardened, he'll shore do it.' 44 And that the pinto honestly tried to make old Tison's word good we were all ready to admit. The gate had been opened, and Pete wanted, of course, to get him outside. But this did not suit the peculiarly devilish strategy of the pinto, who was quick to observe useful first aids to the injured bronco within the walls of the corral itself. Along the north wall of the pen ran a long, low shed, a shed so low that when, after three or four minutes' violent bucking in the centre of the pen that would have unseated most men, the pinto suddenly plunged, bucking high as he could leap, beneath the shed, Pete had to swing his body down alongside the horse, till quite below level of horn and cantlc, to save himself. " Disgusted with this failure the pinto pitched madly twice about the open pen, then stopped and [13] REMINISCENCES OF A RANCHMAN looked about. To his right, a low gate or door had been cut through the solid log wall, leading to a milk pen, the upper log left uncut for lintel. The moment he espied this door, at it the pinto dashed, and rein and spur as he would, Pete could not turn him. Noth- ing remained but to throw himself bodily out of the saddle, and so throw himself Pete did (without seri- ous injury), just as the horse plunged through the door, the horn of the saddle catching on the lintel, bursting latigos and tearing out cinch rings, and leaving the saddle a wreck behind him. " ' Bern* as th' pinto's so easy gaited V kind like, would yu now allow t' ride him bar* back, o' shall we- uns loan yu a saddle?' patronisingly queried old Tison. " * I tak a saddle, me, por ete diablo,' panted Pete. " Another saddle was quickly brought. " The pinto, bleeding of flank where the rending saddle had torn him, was driven back into the main corral, Pete again roped him, and, with Harry's help, drove him through the gate into the open, where he was again saddled, and Pete remounted. " Then ensued a battle royal between bronco and buster, for perhaps twenty minutes — the bronco by turns pitching furiously, and then standing and try- ing to kick Pete's feet out of the stirrups, or bowing [14] A DESERT SPORT his neck in effort to bite his legs, with an occa- sional rear and fall backward, while all the time Pete's spurs and quirt were cruelly searching flank and shoulders. 44 In the end Pete conquered, rode the pinto quietly back into the pen, drawn of flank, quivering in every muscle, hardly able to stand, and painfully swung out of the saddle* his own nose bleeding severely. 44 4 Wall, stranger, I reckon it's up t* me t' say yu shore kin ride some/ grumbled old Tison, and then we all strode back to camp. " A half hour before supper was called old Tison paid us another visit For probably ten minutes he stood, glum and silent, among us. Then, suddenly, his face brightened with a happy thought, and, still staring into the fire, he spoke : 44 4 Fellers, I 'lows yu-all reckons I'm a purty pore sort o' white trash. Yu done handled my dog V rid th' pinto. But I now puts it up to yu-all cold that thar ain't airy one o* yu bunch kin tech me a shootin' 'v a gun. I'm the shore chief o' th' Humboldt Desert wi' a six-shooter; wi' a fix, fellers, I'm a wolf off the headwaters o' Bitter Creek, V it's my time t' howl ail th' time ! Don't guess airy o' yu fellers kin shoot none, kin yu?' 44 This was plainly Faro Harry's cue, and he mod- [15] REMINISCENCES OF A RANCHMAN estly mentioned that some of his friends thought lie could shoot a little, but probably he would not be in it with a real Bitter Creek lead pumper — a gentle piece of irony from a man so expert he could have let Tison draw and then have killed him before he got his gun cocked. " Tison had shown such an ugly mood that none of us, probably Harry least of all, were certain whether his proposal was meant as an invitation to a fight or a target match. It was, therefore, some relief to us when Tison answered: "'Huh! Think yu kin shoot a leetle, do they? Wall, yu'll have t* shoot straight as ole Mahster travels when he makes up his mind t' git yu, t* hold a candle t' me. Ef yu has no objections, I'll jes shoot yu three shots apiece fo* th' champeenship o' this yere desert ; V yu beats me, yu shore wins her.' " A match was soon arranged, distance ten paces, Harry's target the three spot of spades, Tison's the three of clubs. " Tison fired his round, aiming carefully and slow- ly, fairly hitting two of the three clubs, and narrowly missing the third. " Then Harry, firing quickly and rapidly, sent a ball into each of his three spades, amazingly near the centre of each. [16] A DESERT SPORT 44 ' 'Cain't do it agin, with my gun, kin yu? * Tison grumbled. "Faro promptly took Tison's pistol, and a mo- ment later had almost plugged the three holes pre- viously made in his three spades. 44 Tison received back his pistol, turned it over in his hands once or twice, felt of hammer and trigger, and then tossed it on the ground, remarking : 44 4 Reckon *t's up to me t' rr-tire from th* shoot- in' biznes ! ' and he slouched back to the house. 44 As we were sitting down to supper, Professor Pf tw ef remarked to Faro: u ' WY11, Hurry, I imu^ino you h;i\v taki-n the lust ounce of brag out of Old Man Tison. Surely there can be nothing else he can fancy himself such a past master of that he will be after us with a new chal- lenge/ 44 4 Professor,' answered Harry, * I has to disagree with you. I know that old coffee-cooler's breed pretty well, and if I'm not badly mistaken, he'll be makin' plays at us till the game closes by our leavin', or at least until he finds a game he can do us at. Mighty stick- to-a-tive kind o* folks, his'n. Cain't just think what she's apt to be, but he's dead sure to spring a new play of some sort.* 44 And Faro's prediction proved true as his shoo*- [171 REMINISCENCES OF A RANCHMAN ing, for scarcely was our supper finished when out of the darkness and into the circle of our firelight stalked the grim figure of old Tison. " Come among us, he was chipper and chatty in a measure we realised boded us no good, for it bespoke a joy we had learned he did not indulge, at least in his intercourse with us, except when he believed he had worked out some new scheme for our humiliation. Indeed he was so nearly downright gay, we sus- pected he had some plan to tackle us en bloc instead of individually. " However, we were not left long in suspense — he was so pleased with and sure of his new line of attack he could not long hold it, and he also appeared to fear it would take some diplomacy and wheedling to enmesh us. " ' Fellers,' he began, * I reckon it's up to me t' aorta 'pologise to yu-all. O' course 't ain't calc'lated t' sweeten a feller's temper none t' have his dog handled, his worst outlaw rid, 'n' t' have th' hull lites V liver o* his conceit 'bout bein' th' best gun shot on th' desert kicked plumb outen him at one kick; V then, besides, that d d old squaw up t' th' cabin, she gets t' steppin' on my narves pow'ful hard some- times, 'specially lately, gittin' fool idees in her ole Injun head 'bout dressin' up 'n' bein* fash'n'ble V [18] A DESERT SPORT i* visitin' V travellin*, like she sees these yere emi- grants' women on th' overland trail dress up V go, V 't's gittin' t' be jest 'bout hell t' git t' hold her. Which-all 's my rst^cuse fer trcatin' o' yu-all like t' make yu think I feels I wa'n't licked on the squar. But squar 't was 'n* thar*s no squeal comin' t' me, V I makes none* V that's what I come over t' tell yu.' After a brief pause, a pause so brief we lacked time to make due acknowledgment of his apology, he resumed : 44 ■ But bein' *s Tm here 't jest occurs f me t' iw- mark that my game's seven-up, 'n* that thar ain't airy feller 'twixt Salt Lake V Sacramento, 'nless •one fancy-fingered perfeshnul short-card sharp, whose money ain't like jest nachally findin' it t' me at that thar game. O' cou'se, arter sech a admission, I ain't a invitin' o' anybody t' shuffle V deal wi' me, but I shore got a deck over 't th' cabin that ain't busy none, V ef airy o' yu scientific gents counts gamblin* among yu' 'compliihments, an' actooally insutt on 't, I might be pe'suaded t' go yu a whirl.' 44 Oddly enough, Professor Brewer, for a member of the church, was far and away the best seven-up player I erer knew. He loved the game and played it often — for diversion, never for stake of any kind. But [19] REMINISCENCES OF A RANCHMAN this night, carried away by the humour of the situa- tion, Brewer whispered to me: " ' King, it does seem a duty to take another fall out of that old bunch of conceit; I really believe I ought to tackle him.' " And he did — strolled with Tison over to the cabin, followed by three of us. " With the limited bunk space filled to overflowing with half-breeds, and the one table the cabin boasted, backed up against the wall, requisitioned as an im- promptu bed for two of the overflow, it only remained for Brewer and Tison to convert a bench into a joint seat and table, by sitting astride it, and shuffling and dealing on the bench space between them, the blaze of the fireplace their only light. " Tison had the courage of his convictions of his own skill, and proposed stakes that made Brewer hesi- tate, but, with a shrug and smile to us, he accepted and the game was on. " From the outset Brewer both outheld and out- played his opponent. Thus it was not long until he had won all the cash Tison was able to wager; and when, about nine o'clock, I and my mates withdrew to camp, Tison had just wagered all the horses he owned, and Brewer had accepted the wager at such valuation as Tison saw fit to name. [*0] A DESERT SPORT u About midnight Brewer entered our lent and awakened us to say : 44 * Boys, you can scarcely believe it, but I've won every last thing Old Man Tison possesses — money, spring, cabin, horses and cattle, squaw and half- breeds, down to and including the sucking papoose — and have given it all back to him ! And when I told liim I had no idea of accepting my winnings, and urged be should regard the evening as just a friendly game for fun, then he wanted to fight me " fer mak- in' a fool o' hin Very shortly after sunrise the next morning, be- fore breakfast was ready, and even before some of the party were up, Old Man Tison made us another and last visit, his wicked gray eyes reddened and his face haggard from an evidently sleepless night, his hands stuck in his belt — the right dangerously near his gun, which we had sent back to him the previous evening, so near I noted Faro keenly watching his every move. 44 And when he spoke his tones were ominous ; his voice had lost its slow, soft drawl, and instead carried a crisp, smart, vibrant ring that spelled a mind alert and muscles tense. 'Mo'nin', fellers,' he began ; 4 pow'ful fine day fer traveU'm\ ain't it? I 'lowed yu-all 'd be a hittin' o' AT trail 'fore this?* REMINISCENCES OF A RANCHMAN " Faro indiscreetly observed that we were enjoy- ing ourselves so much we thought we might camp with him several days. " ' Hell yu do! Want to be a rubbin' o' 't in, do yu? Well, by , I reckon yu won't! Th' handlin' o' my dog, V th' ridin' my pinto, V th* out-shootin' me was all on the squar' V I has no roar t' make, V makes none. 'N' so was th* beat in* o' me at seven-up on the squar', 's fer 's th' game went, V the winnin' o' everything I got; but sence that thar solemncoly sky-pilot-lookin' feller rar'd up on his hind legs V r'fused V take his winnin's, a makin' o' me look like a hungry houn' pup, too pore t' take anythin' from, my mind's dead sot yu-all come here 'special jes t' see how many different kinds o' a damn fool yu could make outen o' me, V I 'm a gittin*, gradu'lly, mos' terr'ble riled. 'Nless th' sky-pilot-lookin' feller takes 't least th' squaw 'n' th' 'breeds, thar is shore t' be hell's own trouble ef yu-all don't pull yu'r freight pronto. Mebbeso I kin git t' hold out a hour more, but w'thin that time I'd shore admire t' see yu-all hit th' trail.' " And, out of consideration for Brewer, we packed and pulled out." rati CHAPTER TWO THE MAKING OF A COWBOY THE trials of a Underfoot cowboy on the plains in the early *70s were only exceeded by the trials of such of them as survived their apprenticeship with enough hardihood left to become tenderfoot ranchmen. One not only caught it going and coming, but often got it hardest when neither going nor coming. And the harder one got it the greater the kindness to him; if his metal rang true under test, the sooner was he accepted into the grim and more or less grizzled Order of Old Timers ; if it rang false, the quicker was he brought to a realisation that for him the plains offered little of opportunity save a chance to split the scenery along the shortest trail East. Neither breeding, brains, nor money counted among the nervy nomads of the range. It was make good or make tracks. And for the best man it was far from easy to make good. The sudden transition from the ease and luxuries of civilisation to the hard riding, hard 1*3] REMINISCENCES OF A RANCHMAN fare, and hard bed of a cowboy was trying, to say the least. At high noon of a beautiful June day, the Overland Express pulled me into Cheyenne, Wyoming, and out of it I stepped into an atmosphere with a nip in it that set one's blood tingling like a glass of cham- pagne. Out of it I stepped, a youngster not yet of age, bent to be a cowboy. Before leaving the train, I had prudently strapped to my waist a new (how distressingly new) .45 Colt's six-shooter, that looked and felt a yard long. The one possession larger than this pistol that left the train with me was my desire to learn to use it, for I then suspected, and a few days later proved, that it was idle for me to hope to hit with it anything in the landscape smaller than the heavens above or the earth beneath me. In fact, for several months the safest thing in my neighbourhood was whatever I tried to shoot at with that pistol, safer even than I myself who held it ; for, until I learned its tricks, the recoil at each discharge gave me a smash in the forehead, from hammer or barrel, that made me wish I had been the target instead of the marksman. At the station I was met by dear old N. R. Davis, the hardest of taskmasters on a tenderfoot quitter, and the best of mentors and friends to a stayer. THE MAKING OF A COWBOY While I brought a letter of commendation from his partner and my best friend, Clarence King, he could not help showing that I lacked his approval. Nor was he to be blamed. Two years before a tus- sle of several weeks with a brain fever, immediately succeeding six months of exceptionally hard work while in charge of the New York Tribune* t verbatim report of the Henry Ward Beecher trial, had left me very much of a physical wreck, and I dare say I looked to him better fit to hold down a hospital cot than to fork a cayuse. Then there was my regalia! For my own condition doubtless he had a latent sympathy, but my rig incited his open resentment. The rig I had taken so much time in selecting and felt so proud of he quickly consigned to the scrap heap— lace boots, little knee leggings, short hunting spurs, little round soft hat ; everything, indeed, but my pistol. And even the pistol had to be stripped of its flap holster and rehabited in the then new de- collete Olive scabbard. The early afternoon was spent in assembling a proper outfit. A bridle, forty-pound saddle, forty-foot rawhide lariat, California spurs with two-inch rowels and leather chaps that, when I got them on, felt like they weighed a ton, and made me look like I weighed [iS] REMINISCENCES OF A RANCHMAN ten pounds, were bought at Frank Menea's; a tar- paulin, a buffalo robe and two blankets for my camp bed, boots and a big hat John Harrington furnished. And then, fortified by two toddies at Luke Mur- rain's, which N. R. had evidently suggested from motives of sheer humanity, we climbed into his buck- board, forded Crow Creek, and bowled away south for his Owl Creek ranch, behind a span of half-broke half-breeds that spent as little time on the ground and as much up in the air as their harness handicap permitted. At that time N. R. had the finest horse ranch and best-bred horses in all Wyoming, a herd then headed by the famous old thoroughbred stallion Huerfano, loved the game of conquering and training them, and never drove a gentle pair if he could help it; hu- moured his mad pets when he could, rough handled them when he must to maintain mastery, and never was he happier than when, straining on the reins, before him plunged a savage pair, eyes bloodshot, lathered flanks heaving, tails switching, manes toss- ing, muscles surging, cruel heels flying toward his face, in a nip and tuck struggle where it was his neck and their freedom or their bondage and his mastery. There was little talk on the drive; the pair kept [26] THE MAKING OF A COWBOY too busy, and concern about what part of my anatomy might first hit the ground kept me think- ing. Half way or more out he spoke: 44 Wonder if Kingy had it in for you or me, letting you come out here? I guess for both of us — thought we'd both be sure to get it, but mind, I'm not going to favour you. You've got to take your medicine with Con Humphrey's outfit, and he's about as tough a rawhide as ever led a circle. But he always gets there, and that's the only reason I keep him. It's lay close to old Con's flank, Kid, and keep your end up or turn in your string of horses. On the round-up no soldiering goes ; tick or well, it's hit yourself in the flank with your hat and keep up with the bunch or be set afoot to pack your saddle ; there's no room in the chuck wagon for a quitter's blankets, and no time to dote herd sick ones. So for Heaven's sake don't start out unless you have the guts to stand it." While far short of encouraging, it was, neverthe- less, plain that N. R.'s every word was conceived in kindness. So I simply answered that while I would of course prove unhandy at the new work, he could rely that the moment I found I could not keep out of the way of the experienced punchers, I would myself want to turn in my horses and quit the outfit. Then he re- sumed: [87] REMINISCENCES OF A RANCHMAN " I'm tally-branding this summer, making a tally or inventory of all our cattle and horses for an ac- counting and settlement with my partners. The cor- rals are full of cattle it will take all day to-morrow to run through the chutes and hair-brand. The next morning Con starts his outfit down Willow to round up the Pawnee Butte country. I'll pass you up to Con to-night, and what he makes of the new hand will de- pend on what he finds in it. We'll dump your blankets and tricks at the chuck wagon, and you can make down among the boys. Earlier you start the sooner you'll learn — and that, I guess, is what you're here for. Don't mind the boys. They'll rough you a lot, but most of it will be good-humoured. If any get ugly, you'll have to call them down, that's all." A little after dark we reached the ranch, a big, comfortable frame house with wide piazzas, through whose windows I caught glimpses of snowy linen and gleaming silver and cut glass in a cheerful din- ing-room, that made a picture of comfort and luxury, and told a story of generous feeding, that for the next thirty days was seldom long out of my mind. At the back of the handsome ranch house stood a little log cabin, now the winter home of N. D. (the Davis brand) punchers, that told of humble begin- nings five years before. [«8] THE MAKING OF A COWBOY A few hundred feet south of the house stood the stables, and near these a bunch of great corrals, built of " grout " — solid walls of mortar and gravel. This was all — no pasture, no fences, just the broad prairies rolling awaj in all directions to the horizon. Past ranch and corrals tinkled Owl Creek, a little brook one could step across, that struck me as the most pathetic bit of water I then had ever seen. Born of a tiny spring that feebly pushed its way into the sunlight from beneath a low bluff a scant half mile west of the ranch, a spring bubbling with the mirth and singing with the joy of release from its subter- ranean prison, happy in the generous bounty it had to bestow upon this arid land, wondering, like any other young thing, what lay beyond its horizon, and eager to hurry on and see, the last precious drops of Owl Creek's sweet waters were soon greedily drunk by the thirsting plains, gone back into Mother Earth's deep bosom whence they had so recently come, and its career ended, a scant half mile east of the ranch! There was so much Owl Spring wanted to do, and so little it did. It slaked the thirst of a few men and beasts; one slender cottonwood, frail as the mother that fed it, bent affectionately over the spnng; two [29] REMINISCENCES OF A RANCHMAN narrow ribbons of juicy green grasses owed life to the spring and followed it faithfully to its end : that was all. Forever shut within its narrow horizon though Owl Spring was, fated never to know fellow waters and merrily to wander with them out into the world, nevertheless it was spared all contamination and was privileged to sink to its last rest as clean and pure as when its first rippling smile received the sun's first ki.ss. A merry fire blazed at the tail end of the chuck wagon. About it were sitting sixteen punchers, feed- ing from tin plates and cups, gorging on beans, beef, and baking-powder biscuits, washed down with coffee strong enough to float an egg, men with the ferocious hunger of the wolf, and the case-hardened stomach of the ostrich. They were of all ages from sixteen to sixty, but most of them under thirty, all grimy with the dust, and several reeking with the blood of the day's work in the corrals. It was plain I was downright welcome to the bunch, but in a way that boded anything but good for me. While no life of greater privation and hardship than the cowboy's ever existed, unless that in the forecastle of a wind jammer, no merrier, jollier lot ever lived, always " joshing " each other, turning a jest on [80] THE MAKING OF A COWBOY erery condition in life, from the cradle to the grave, but one — home and mammy, a subject on which tones always lowered, eyes softened and sometimes grew misty. A glance about the circle explained the warmth of my welcome. I was the only tenderfoot in camp ! Thus the odds were sixteen to one. I was in for trouble, and it was not long coming. I nearly stalled at the rude fare, and ate little. 44 Kid," drawled Tobacco Jake, " ef you reckons to tote that full grown gun all day to-morrow, yu better ile yer jints with sow belly an* fill up all th' holler places inside yu with beans an' biscuit; yu shore look like yu hadn't had no man's grub in a month." I replied I had been something of an invalid, and that it was true my physical condition was hardly up to par. 44 Look yerc, Kid," replied Jake, " ef yu caint talk our Ungwidge, you jus make signs. What'n hell yu try in' to say, anyway? " Before I could reply, Jack Talbot cut in : 44 He shore do look like a doggie " (a motherless calf) 4< *t haint got used t* eatin' grass. Gee, but won't the beans rattle in his craw when he climbs his first bronc! 'Bout two jumps an' a twist an' I allow [81] REMINISCENCES OF A RANCHMAN he'll jes nachally fall t' pieces, V we'll have t' bunch th' r^-mains in a war sack 'n' send 'em t' his ma." " Bet you my gun agin yer silver trimmed spade bit th' fust jump fetches him, an' it's us t' pick up th' chips," cheerfully suggested Jake. " Wouldn't let him fork one o' my top cutters bareback fer nuthin'," was the pleasantly impersonal comment of Llano Lew, " he's so ga'nted up an' thin he'd give it worse saddle galls than airy ole horse- eatin' Mexico tree 't ever crossed th' Rio Grand." Another happy thought struck Jake, and out it came: " Say, fellers, I allow his folks w'd sort a like to plant him in th' fam'ly stiff lot, but they shore won't be willin' to be set back much payin' freight on his busted carcass. Le's see ef we-uns caint he'p 'em out. When he do come apart, le's see ef we caint load him in his own gun — looks like he'd jes about chamber in her — V jes nachally shoot him back whar he cum from, V save urn th' wr-press price." These were only a few of the more refined and agreeable sallies that greeted me my first evening in cow camp. In fact, I was beginning to get pretty hot in the collar, when at length a friendly voice spoke, that of Tex, a man I soon learned to trust, and later to love, who through many years stood as steadfastly [32] THE MAKING OF A COWBOY my friend as on this night of the little tenderfoot's first trials. 44 Fellers," he quietly observed, "jest shet y'r yawp, pronto! Let the kid alone — it's me sayin' it. Course he ain't goin' to keep up with no leaders on th* circle, but I've got a fool idee he won't be so fer behind we'll lose him none." I was the subject of no more open comments that night, but until the last pair were asleep there were whispers and snickers that left no doubt they were still having their fun at my expense. By dawn the next morning we were routed out by the cook, and by good sun-up had finished breakfast and were in the corrals for the day's work at tally- The great pens were filled with wild range cattle, the gather of the last round-up, old and young. The golden duns, pale yellows, light reds and piebald black and whites, all with great, wide-spreading horns characteristic of the old Spanish stock of southern Texas, predominated, with here and there the short horns, dark red and greater bulk of a Dur- ham cross, the bald face of a Hereford, or the horn- less head and solid black colour of a Polled Angus. And wild indeed they were, looked and acted it — eyes biasing, horns shaking threateningly, surging [33] REMINISCENCES OF A RANCHMAN back and forth across the corral, sometimes in solid mass, an irresistible tide stopped only by the heavy walls of the pen, sometimes moving in winding coun- ter currents like the waters of an eddy, bulls bellow- ing, cows lowing, steers snorting, calves " Matting," a mass of colour shifting and brilliant as any ever seen in a kaleidoscope. And into this sea of tossing horns it was ours to jump and work all day — on foot! And jump it was all day, and keep your eyes about. A fire was quickly lighted, and the branding-irons laid in it, heating for their cruel task. Along one side of the corral ran a narrow chute long enough to hold twenty animals, standing heads to tails, the outer end opening on the prairie, the in- ner on a close-pen thirty feet in diameter. This close-pen was filled with cattle from the main corral, driven in by the dismounted punchers, yelling and swinging clubs or anything we could lay our hands on. Then from this pen the chute was filled, the rear end barred, and in five minutes two or three men handling the irons had lightly hair-branded the im- prisoned beasts, the outer gate was opened, and they were released, bounding out to freedom, bawling from the pain of the iron. [34] THE MAKING OF A COWBOY And, bar an hour for dinner at mid-day, so this round was repeated till nearly dark, when the corrals were emptied. While no work could be harder, and few tasks in- volve less of ever-present momentary peril to limb or life, while the foreman was a mean, ill-natured brute, often needlessly exacting, cursing at a moment's pause in the work, and cordially hated by all, while begrimed and often half-blinded by dust and smoke and sweat, never have I seen schoolboys merrier at their play, fuller of jests, pranks, and rough horse play than were these cow-punchers at their work. In mid-afternoon my friend, Tobacco Jake, near met his finish. While working over the chute, a great bull made a savage dig at him, the dull, rounded point of one horn landing on Jake's jaw, fracturing it and laying him out so stiff we thought for some time he was surely done for. The trend of sympathy was expressed by Llano Lew: " Pow'ful hard luck on Jake, bustin' his talk box. Reckon he'd ruther stay daid 'n' come to ef he knowed it. *N* ef he do stay daid, he shore won't make no very d d sociable ghost, onless he meets up with spcrits 't knows Injun sign-talk." All day long I had been getting a continuous [36] REMINISCENCES OF A RANCHMAN 4< joshing " — mock sympathy for my weakness and feigned anxiety for my safety: if an angry beast charged my way, one or more of the boys would push me aside and take my place, while others strove to turn the charge ; when it came in my way to pick up anything from the ground, no matter how insignifi- cantly small ond light, one or more pair of hands were instantly reached out to help me lift it, and when my face was observed streaming with sweat, one or another would solicitously try to wipe it with the slack of a loose bandana neckerchief. By evening my amour propre was downright raw, and I was resolved to make the first play that offered to lift myself in my mates' esteem. Just at the close of the day's work the chance came. As, through the late afternoon, the numbers in the main corral rrpidly dwindled until few were left, with more rOCU lo run, and evidently made nervous by watching the mass of the herd streaming through the chute to the liberty of the open range, those remain- ing became more and more restive, and, as the boys put it, " Pontile." One in particular, a lean, active white two-year-old heifer, the foreman had seriously warned all of us to watch carefully. And when at length we sought to drive the last Uttle lot of them into the close-pen, all entered safely, 136] THE MAKING OF A COWBOY after two or three trials, except this white heifer, which charged back through our yelling, arm-swing- ing line of punchers, that quickly broke to right and left at her approach, many not stopping short of the top of the fence, a proceeding that struck me aa wholly undignified. It also seemed unnecessary, for each swung in his hands a stout club of some sort, heavy enough to stun or turn her, if rightly landed. My hand weapon was a straight-blade, short- handled spade, and I quickly formed what seemed to me the sound piece of strategy of awaiting her charge (if she came at me) until the last second, and then leaping aside and dropping her with a blow be- tween the horns. Run from her I resolved I would not Repeatedly we lined up and crowded her up to the gate, where she would stand an instant, angrily lash- ing her tail, and then whirl and charge, the boys scattering out of her course. Presently I got what — I had thought — I wanted; she charged me straight. Quickly swinging the spade over my shoulder for the blow, and shifting my feet slightly in a gather for the leap aside, I slipped on the now muddy ground and fell flat on my back, dropping the spade in the effort to recover myself! [37] REMINISCENCES OF A RANCHMAN And no more was I down than the heifer was upon me, head lowered and sharp horns pointed for the coup de mort of her race. But, surprised by my fall, she braced her forefeet when a little distance from me, and literally slid through the mud up to me till her two hoofs gave me a pretty good dig in the ribs, then backed away two or three feet, then nuzzled my body and face in inquiry and lightly prodded me with her horns for any sign of life. Lying motionless, through half-closed lids I plainly saw the fury in her eyes soften with wonder and curiosity however I could have gone dead so quickly — and then she lightly leaped across my body and was gone ! And nobody called me slow in reaching and mount- ing to the security of the nearest fence top ! It all happened so quickly I actually hadn't time to get scared or even nervous until after it was all over — and such as I then felt the boys quickly knocked out of me with their jests. " Hoot ! lad," called Red Cameron, the cook, " but Auld Hornie nigh got ye the whiles, hot off the eend o' his own kind o' weepons. Gi'n ye had as mucklc sense as luck, ye'd get yer eemortality in this wurrld, by livin* forever ! " Then Llano Lew: "Mama! but who'd a thot th' kid was locoed [S8] THE MAKING OF A COWBOY enough t* tackle a fight in' heifer afoot? His thinker must shore be as puny as his carcass. Ain't nuthin' but him 'tween th* two Plattes fool enough t' tackle thataway a lightweight two-year-old hell bent fer trouble, like Miss Blanco thar. D d ef we don't hare t' neck him t* th* cook t* keep 'im from killin' his fool teJf 'fore we hiU the Pawnee." And again good old Tex to my aid : " You jes tighten th' latigo on that jaw o' yourn. Tears t' me like th 9 kid's got a tol'able heavy jag o' sand mixt with his loco, uv a brand a hell uv a sight better'n yourn, Lew. Better see ef ye caint git to trade him some o* yer tongue ile fer some o' his sand. D d ef I don't think he's got right smart t' spare, V still stack up with airy puncher in th' pen." A kindly sentiment that won some adherents in the bunch, as shown by some awkward but friendly ad- That night beans and biscuit tasted good to me, and the lumpy mattress of buffalo grass felt better. The next morning I turned out rather stiff from my first day's work, and a bit sore from Miss Blanco's hoofs and horns, but otherwise fit as a fiddle. Breakfast over, in twenty minutes camp kettles, war sacks and beds were loaded into the chuck wagon ; [89] REMINISCENCES OF A RANCHMAN horses caught and saddled, and we were mounted and headed southeast for Willow Creek. N. R. had assigned me a string of five horses, all kind and gentle, and unusually good ones, I later real- ised, to intrust to a tenderfoot. Average hands were never assigned less than four horses each for range round-up work, and top hands who had the heavy work of " cutting " the round-up-, separating the cattle wanted from those not want id, rarely less than seven or eight horses. And there were never too many horses, seldom enough. Lacking corn and all other fodder but the native grasses, it was only by frequent change of mounts and long intervals of rest for each that they could be kept in fair flesh, strong of wind and limb and sound of back. In the saddle from dawn to dark, and then riding a two to three hours' turn at night guard round the herd in hand, fifty to seventy miles a day was no more than an average distance daily covered by the average cowboy on the round-up ; and throughout a third to sometimes more than half the day the pace was the ponies' top speed, handling and turning wild cattle bent on escape. Thus by the noon finish of a morning circle sides were lathered, flanks drawn, strength and wind gone, and fresh mounts necessary, while during the after- [40] THE MAKING OF A COWBOY noon's work of " cutting " the herd, the pace was so killing for the top cutters, with the terrible shock of sudden sharp turns and short stops, that one or two changes were always desirable. This first daj in the saddle on the open range was a tough one on the tenderfoot. The easiest saddle on the rider in the world once jou are used to it, the cow •addle is far harder to get on comfortable terms with than the flat pigskin: it gives a beginner harder cramps and tenderer spots in more parts of the anat- omy than any punishment conceivable short of an in- quisition rack. Thus by midday every part of me ached cruelly, and by night I was so stiff and numb that, when dismounted, every step was agony. And by that time I had acquired an even greater mental than bodily agony. The plains through which we rode were simply alive with great rattlesnakes, ■one coiled comfortably beneath the shade of a greasewood or prickly pear, some stretched lazily in the sun, some crawling about, all alert for mischief, quick to coil, rattle and strike at whatever ap- proached them, forked tongues thrusting maliciously, poison fangs gleaming like two miniature cimeters. All day long we were scarcely ever ten minutes out of sight of them. How any living thing contrived to exist within REMINISCENCES OF A RANCHMAN reach of those thousands of ever-ready envenomed fangs was past understanding. To ride among them was bad enough, but nothing to the horror of dismounting among them, while the thought of lying down in one's blankets at night within their jealously held territory was too hideous a hazard to contemplate. And all day long, when not too busy roasting my seat in the saddle, the boys were spinning to each other yarns, conceived for the occasion, of a mate awakened to find a rattler coiled upon his breast, of another bitten from beneath the ambush of a shrub when bending to picket his horse, of yet another slip- ping into a cave alive with them— each dying, of course, in tortures painted as fcarsomely as they knew. Indeed, the active actual peril from the rattlers was at noon emphasised. When, our dinner finished, Nigger Dick, the horse wrangler, brought in the loose horses to the waggon, some one noted him sucking his thumb and asked him what was the matter. "Done got stung by Br'er Rattler! Seed a li'l young cottontail an' allowed I c'd cotch him, but hit done run me ober de prickly pears V 'roun' greasewood patches twell my ole tongue wuz haingin* out, V then hit up V duv inta a hole jes es I wuz THE MAKING OF A COWBOY goin' t' drap on hit. Yassa, I was sho' clus atop o' Br*er Rabbit, so clus I runs my fool nigga airm inta de hole, spectin' t' get hit's hind paws, but staid o' that, Br'er Rattler what was layin' thar, jcs riz up fm his noon ear-poundin', V pow'ful mad at Br'er Rabbit fer kickin' him in de haid, he jes nails me good on de fo' paw, V when I jerks away, out paht way he comes twell one o' his old toofs slips out V th' otha one she jes bmck off V stay stickin' in Dick's fumb. But I shore dug him out V bruck him apaht, 'foh I quit! W all de time, I 'lows, Br'er Rabbit wuz sittin' deepa down de hole alafin' at Dick. Hell! but hit do hu'tl" And indeed his hand and arm were already badly swollen. Promptly one of the boys drew the bullet from a pistol cartridge, took a knife and deeply gashed, almost hashed, the thumb all about the two tiny punctures, then poured the powder over the wound and fired it with a match ! A crude method of cauterising, it certainly seemed effective. Anyway, whether due to Dick's sucking his thumb or to the rude cowboy surgery, the inflammation went no further and Dick made a quick recovery. That night it took more nerve to lie down in my blankets in rattler land than I had needed the day before to face Miss Blanco! REMINISCENCES OF A RANCHMAN But as matter of fact, as I later learned — so much later it did me no good on tlus trip — rat- tlers are never night prowlers on the plains, and " hole up " so soon as the chill of night comes on ; and indeed now, after years on the range, Dick remains the only man I ever personally knew bitten by a rattler. On this rodeo we were out about a month, round- ing up first the Crow Creek and Pawnee Butte coun- try, thence swinging up the South Platte River to Fremont's Orchard, thence to the sink of Willow Creek and up Willow toward the home ranch. The first forty-eight hours I developed an appetite and a capacity for sleep never known before. In a week I was fairly hardened to sixteen to eighteen hours a day in the saddle, most of the time on the jump. In a fortnight I had accomplished a modest but certain entry into the mysteries of brands, ear-marks, " dulaps," " wattles," etc. At the end of three weeks I could pitch and swing a riata tolerably, and, notwithstanding sundry more or less hard falls incident to unwary steps in prairie dog holes, running over calves, cowboy's tricks, etc., had acquired a four-year-old, full-grown faith in my saddle seat. [44] THE MAKING OF A COWBOY And it wai precisely for this latter I had been waiting and working hardest. For the boys' 44 josliing " never ceased — I was too good a thing to miss. The favourite subject of their jests and tricks was my early awkwardness and insecurity in the saddle, a fact they easily proved by the simple experiment of sticking a prickly pear bulb beneath my horse's tail after I had mounted. While, of course, the trick was always played behind my back, I was never long in discovering it. Instantly the horse began bucking furiously to lose the pear, and always finished by los- ing me first. As a M pear buster " I was a dismal failure, but as a side-splitter for the boys I was a howling success. But all the time I was learning more of the knee and lower leg grip, the balance and " swing " need- ful to keep rider and bucker from parting company — till presently one day, early the fourth week, I re- solved to make a play that, win or lose, could not fail to largely stop the galling chaff I was getting so tired of. An ** outlaw " it a horse fuller of years than hon- ours, spoiled by needless cruelty in the early break- ing, spoiled so completely that he is " bad " to the end of his days, either as bucker, kicker, striker, biter, [45] REMINISCENCES OF A RANCHMAN backfaller, etc., and usually master of all these ac- complishments, a fighter in one or all of these ways every time he is saddled. " Walkingbars " was freely conceded to be the worst outlaw in the N. D. outfit, a great yellow-eyed, Roman -nosed, ewe-necked, long-barrelled, heavy-quar- tered buckskin. Every trick of the evil equine " Walk- ingbars " knew, and he had the power to do these tricks longer and harder than any horse I have ever since seen. When " Walkingbars " got down to earnest pitch- ing it seemed — and usually proved — as hard to stop him as to stay the mighty swing of a side-wheeler's walking-beam — and hence, I dare say, his name. " Walkingbars " was in the mount of a wiry little Mexican, Jos6, who managed to handle him, but was tired of the task and constantly cursing him. I decided to add " Walkingbars " to my mount. He might and probably would do a lot of things to me, but nothing I dreaded more than " Tender- foot," and the chaff and tricks that went with the name, and it was to shake these annoyances at one stroke that, one morning on the circle, I proposed to trade Jose* my top horse, " Goldie," for " Walking- bars." [46] THE MAKING OF A COWBOY * Mad re de Dios! muchacho, he kecla you, keela you sure ; but if you weesh, you heem have, y que Dios te a guar da ' So the trade was settled, Jose* promising to say nothing of it to the boys. When, therefore, at the noon canip the horses were run into the rope pen, made of lariats outstretch 1 from the chuck wagon wheels, and I pitched my rope over " Walkingbar's " head and dragged him out of the bunch, there was a profound sensation. 44 Now, Tender," called Llano Lew, " yu shore raised hell droppin' y'r string on ole 'Bars! Ilow'n hell yu reckon yu gotn' t' git loose fore he cotches an* i wallers yu? 'N* then how*n hell wc-uns goin' t' get yu' pesky little pusson outcn him ? " And all the time old " 'Bart " was surging on the rope and dragging me about, snorting, rearing, And striking. Just then I myself would have been glad to know of some way to get loose with some shred of dignity, but the play was made and had to be fin- ished. It took a lot of time and patience, and nearly wore me out, but finally I worked up the rope hand over hand until, dodging his strikes, I succeeded in slip- ping a half -hitch over his nose, and then there was another long tussle before I could approach him. [47] REMINISCENCES OF A RANCHMAN When at length I again got in arm's reach, I began gingerly to rub his nose, scratch his head, and pat his neck, and — wonder of wonders — he actually stood still, apparently in sheer astonishment to meet a puncher that neither yelled at, struck, nor jerked him! Presently I got a lump of sugar in his mouth — and then a second. It tasted good, and the wicked eyes glared less balefully, the nervous ears drooped lazily, the resentful muscles relaxed, and old " 'Bars " stood quietly at ease! Then I softly slipped my bridle from the back of my belt, slowly approached it to his head, gently, very gently, pressed the tongue of the bit into the side of his mouth, and he received it (along with an- other lump of sugar !) , and a moment later I had the headstall over his ears. " Walkingbars " stood bridled, a trick never ac- complished by Jose" himself, in the rough way he went at it, until after a hard ten to fifteen minutes' fight. And the explanation was easy. Old " 'Bars " was simply stunned with wonder to find a puncher who didn't try to jam his teeth down his throat with the cruel bit sUel: why shouldn't he let such have his will? [48] THE MAKING OF A COWBOY Then came the saddle, and it took a lot of diplo- macy and time to place and cinch it, for old " 'Bars " was handy with whirling kicks, one of which would cave one's chest in. Once during the saddling he came out of his trance and fought me, but with patience and more patting — ■ and another lump of sugar — he was again quieted till the saddling was finished and I had him safely tied to a waggon wheel. Approval was frank and profanely emphatic. " Wal ! Til be good to ," remarked Jack Talbot, " ef that don» beat th' Comanches. Th' kid shore must have pow'ful Injun medicine, 'ts too strong fer ole 4 'Bars.' I'd a neve* believed the' was airy puncher 'tween th' Gulf an' Canidy could bridle an' saddle ole ' 'Bars ' thaUway, 'thout fitin' him all ove* a five-acre lot. 44 An' we be'n callin' of yu 4 TendeM 44 Ef yu was willin' t* shake with me, Mistah Kid, I would conside' hit a honou*," and we shook, " fo' yu shorely has a medicine bag fo' outlaws hid out about yu pusson that 'd make Jeff Gerry or th' Pinneos look like plough pushers. But, fo' th' love o' home an' mammy, yu don* allow t' climb that ole yaller hell- twister, does yu? His naick's too long fo' yu t' get t' whispa' in his ea', like yu be'n doin', V ef he forgits [49] REMINISCENCES OF A RANCHMAN th' purtys yu be'n promisin' him, yu can bet yu'r alee no roll, or stirrup tyin', or leather grabin' '11 keep yu from gettin' throwed so fur it '11 take yu a week t' walk back to camp, ef yu has any sound bones left t' walk on." And when, a half hour later, I led out old " 'Bars," after first secretly slipping him yet another bit of sugar, while the boys sat their horses at a little dis- tance, coiled my rope and held the loose coils in my left hand, seized reins and headstall with the left, and gently bent old " 'Bars's " head toward me, and then caught stirrup, grabbed saddle-horn, and swung slowly into the saddle and quietly fastened my rope with the horn string, a wild yell of approval rose from the boys that was near being my undoing. Till it came " Walkingbars " had stood perfectly quiet, but a cowboy yell was old " 'Bars's " tocsin of war, and for a time it broke the spell of my " medi- cine," and came near smashing me. He lit into such bucking as I had never dreamed I could stand a second, but, hooking spurs in cinch and pulling leather ignominiously, I contrived to stay on him for perhaps a dozen jumps, when lo, a miracle! Suddenly he stopped stock still, bent his neck and gazed back in my face with a " that's-the-sugar-cup- and-I-better-not-break-it " look in his eyes. [60] THE MAKING OF A COWBOY And when I lightly shook the reins, he quietly trotted up to the waiting group of boys. As I joined them, I heard Tex remark : 44 Lew, does yu allow it's loco or sense an' sand th' Kid's sufferin' most from?" [51] CHAPTER THREE THE TENDERFOOT'S TRIALS A FTER the conquest — for the time being, at /jL least, complete — of " Walkingbars," the JL JL> worst outlaw bronco in the N. D. brand, I felt the crisis of my trials as a tenderfoot was passed. But this proved erroneous — widely. Most of the punchers hailed my success with " Walkingbars " with satisfaction, and showed me a cordiality that made me feel that I had at least one foot drawn out of the slough of tendcr- footdom. But one man seemed actually to resent my good fortune — the evil-tempered foreman, Con Hum- phreys. He may not have wanted me killed outright, but he certainly did seem to want to see me more or less maimed or disfigured. Indeed, the only thing that made at all endurable his general mental attitude toward the outfit at large and each puncher in par- ticular, was the fact that he seemed to hate himself quite as cordially as he did the rest of us. His was a [S2] THE TENDERFOOTS TRIALS mirthless life, devoid even of any sense of pleasure except when engaged in inflicting some needless cru- elty he judged could not be resented. Already Humphreys had been stacking me up against the toughest and some of the riskiest tasks of round-up work ; tasks to try the skill and nerve of the oldest rawhide of them all; and when, as often happened, I acquitted myself none too well, he sneered at and abused me all he dared with a protege* of his < ■ . N . K. The very morning after I first saddled and rode " Wolkingbars," and it had begun to dawn upon his shrewd equine brain that it paid well to curb his savage temper and permit mastery to a puncher who handled him gently and spoke to him kindly, Con's malignant disposition cropped out anew. When out an hour from the lower Willow corral, the herd in hand strung out a mile or more along the winding trail up-stream, a many -tin ted ribbon of bright colour moving ever forward across the endless rolling sea of pale yellow buffalo grass, seen upon the hillocks and disappearing in the swales, the little Mexican, Jose\ rode back into the dense dust clouds at the rear of the herd, where, with two others, I was shouting and pounding along the " drags " — the lame, the laxy, the footsore, and the young — alto- [53] REMINISCENCES OF A RANCHMAN gether the rottenest task about a moving herd, and asked : " Keed, you see oP ' 'Bars ' thees mornin' ? " " No," I answered. " You go remouda looka heem ; I teks you place few meenits, latigando estos diablot de muertos" So I loped over to the remouda a few hundred yards away, where the horse wrangler was slowly drifting and grazing his charges. As usual, old " 'Bars " was well out on the flank of the bunch, flocking by his lonesome. And it needed only a glance to note that his jacemo had been re- moved. The jacemo is a stout headstall made of horsehair, then always used in bronco breaking and handling, either instead of, or in connection with, a bridle. With only a riata loop about a bronco's neck he could drag one about corral or over prairie for half an hour before you could pretend to try to place a saddle, but with the end of a riata fastened to the loop of a jacemo 9 * nose-band, every pull meant stronger smothering pressure over his nostrils, and he soon ceased steady heavy pull on the rope. Usually after a few days' handling the jacemo was no longer necessary with the average bronco, but with old " 'Bars " it could never be dispensed with. [54] THE TENDERFOOTS TRIALS Without one on his head it was utterly impossible to bridle and saddle him, and to put a jacemo on him needed that he be roped by the forelegs and thrown, and " hog-tied " — his four feet bunched and lashed fast together with half-hitches, helpless — a job evi- dently yet far beyond me. Who could hare played me the foul trick of re- moving ** * Bart's " headstall I could not fancy — un- less Con himself. I hurried back to the " drags " and questioned Jo*c\ He answered : " InwudiatawunU bafo* we leer de camp, I see ete Smblo Con cut heem off. Ef I you, I shoot hell out h ee n i pronto an' go on scout. You say si, I halp you, Jose" meant it, every word, for he, next to me, had bean most frequently a victim of Con's meanness. But I merely thanked him, asked him to keep my place with the drags till my return, and trotted forward where Tex rode in the lead swing, a couple of hun- dred yards behind Con's position on the left point of the herd. Good old Tex heard my story and my statement that I saw nothing for it but to call Con down or turn in my string of horses and quit the outfit, and then softly drawled : [M] REMINISCENCES OF A RANCHMAN " Kid, it is shore up to yu t' go on th' prod. Horn him wi' th' meanest cuss words yu knows, 'specially 'bout his closest kin folk, 'n' tell him if he monkeys wi' yu o' yu string agin yu'll hang his skelp on yu lodge pole. Ef he bats a eye o' makes airy more fo' his gun, git him, 'n' do it pow'ful quick. Cou'se you caint shoot none sudden like him, so yu jes stay 's clus t' him '8 if yu was sittin' up wi' yu best gal, 'n' th' fust move he makes yu jerks yu gun 'n' bends her good V plenty ove* that misshaped co'kee'nut he we'as en place o' a haid, V then yu bend her back straight wi' anotha lick. I'll sorta drift along afte' yu, 'thin easy gun range, V ef he gets yu, Kid, it'll bi th' last gun game he'll git to ante in, V then it'll be Tex fer th' scout. But we'll make her a squar' play ; I won't chip in 'fore yu're down." This cheering proposal was inspired in part, no doubt, by a growing friendship for me, but largely by a profound dislike for the foreman. I rode forward to Con. Hearing my approach, he looked back with an ugly scowl, and called: " What'n hell you doin' here, you or'nery kid ? Didn't I leave you along o' the drags V doggies yu belongs with? " " Yes, Humphreys, you did," I replied, " and I'm ready to try to do my best at whatever job you put [56] THE TENDERFOOTS TRIALS me on, but I'm up here now to tell you you've got to quit your abuse; quit your tricks with my string of horses and limit your dealings with me to plain orders in the regular line of work." For a minute or two he was silent with astonish- ment. Then he burst out : "YYhat'n damnation yu kickin' about now, yu " 44 Cut out the description or settle here, Con," I interrupted. " I specially refer to your cutting the jactmo off * 'Bars ' this morning." 44 Huh! Did y» see it done?" 44 No, but others did," I answered. 44 Wal," he snarled, u whoever says I done it 's a d n liar You'll not tell Jose* that," I suggested. He straightened in the saddle, shortened rein, tightened knee grip, and truculently growled : 44 Wal, s'pose I did, what'n hell you goin' to do about it? BUt t v old N. R., I reckon 44 No, Con, nothing of the sort. You're going to order the men to throw ' 'Bars ' at the noon camp, and put on him a new jactmo, and you're going to settle with me for any new outrage you try to play ; it'll be just the two of us," and I lightly touched my spur to my pony's side, and moved him up [57] REMINISCENCES OF A RANCHMAN till my right knee was nearly touching his left, within the easy reach of his " cocoanut " as Tex had advised. For full two minutes, I should think, we sat gazing into each other's eyes, every muscle tense and sense alert, he studying whether to venture upon offence, I intent to draw and strike before he could draw and shoot. The position was perfect for my plan, for his head was defenceless against a blow except by re- leasing his bridle rein, leaving his horse momentarily unmanageable, or by spurring away from me, and against the latter move I was hedging by readiness to plunge my spurs into my horse's flank. A face fuller of malice and murder I never con- fronted; big-eared and peaked like a wolfs, but shifty-eyed and currish as a coyote, a face conveying no fear of a frontal attack, but promising large hazard of ambush ; the face of an assassin, but not of a fighter. Still the provocation, from his stand-point, waa great, and had wrought in him a rage nigh impos- sible to curb. Presently the near-by neigh of a horse behind him caused him to quickly turn his head — to see old Tex idly sitting his horse seventy-five yards away, his .44 Winchester plainly loosened and partly drawn from [58] THE TENDERFOOTS TRIALS the scabbard, his right hand caressing the stock, ap- parently watching the moving herd but at an angle that left us well within the tail of his eye. Instantly he realised Tex had either scented trouble or been told of it, and was there to pot him on the slightest excuse. Then the hard lines of his face relaxed, and, with a surly grin, he spoke: u Why, Kid, 'pears t' me yu're pow'ful het up over nothin'. O' cou'se takin' off ' 'Bars's ■ sombrero was part jest a joke V part t' see ef yu couldn't put her back on agin wi' one o' them big medicine plays yu worked on "Bars' yestiddy. I 'lowed you'd admire a chanct t' put it all ove' th* boys by nachally talkin' ole ' 'Bars ' intu beggin' th' priv'lege o* wearin' a new bunnct. O' cou'se ef yu 'lows yu medicine ain't that strong, we'll throw th' ole an* slap her on fer yu. *N* as fer roughin' o' yu, why hell! ef yu had half th' sense yu 'pear t' pack 'n' that little nut o' yurn, yu'd see I ben tryin' Con's best t' give yu a show fer th' biggest punche' honahs V t' make yu a top hand pronto. But it do shore look like yu don't 'preciatc it, leavin' th* drinks on Con 'n' th' chamber- in' o' them on yu ! Bet yur alee from now on yu can lam by yur lonesome, fir's I'm consarned." And he rode forward where, at his neglected REMINISCENCES OF A RANCHMAN " point," the herd was spreading out like a fan, con- tentedly grazing. I turned back toward the " drags " and Tex rode with me half-way down the long line of the herd. " Alius knew he was a coyote," commented Tex ; " throws too many John Branch ranicaboo bluffs o' his own t' call any one else's. He'll jest rar' up on his haind laigs 'n' come at yu wi' his mouth open like he were th' Whale 'n' yu Jonah, 'n' the fust flutter yu gives he shuts his face hard 'nough t' bust his nut crackers 'n' drops on all fou's 'n' scoots fer th' near- est bunch o' brush. T' hell wi' such animiles anyway ; they shore do make my — back tired ! " Thus relieved, Tex reined West and rode to his place in the " swing." When at the noon camp the horses were run into the ropes for catching the afternoon mounts, Con called : " Tex, drop yu twine on * 'Bars,' V Llano, V Jack, yu-all he'p him throw 'n' tie * 'Bars ' 'n' git his haid intu my jacemo." Tex pitched his rope over " 'Bars's " head, snubbed the end of the rope about his own hips, and as " 'Bars " bounded out of the ropes, braced feet for- ward and body back for the tug. Notwithstanding the severe choking of the riata noose about his neck, [60] THE TENDERFOOT'S TRIALS with all Tex's weight and strength straining at the other end of the rope, mad old " 'Bars " dragged his captor about the prairie at almost racing speed a good ten minutes before Llano could get within cast- ing reach to noose his forefeet. Then with a sharp pull to the left by Tex and to the right by Llano, down smash on his side fell the equine warrior, and before he could gather Tex had a knee on his neck, a hand smothering his nostrils, and his muzzle turned skyward, while Llano had thrown a quick half-hit eh over his left hind foot, and drawn it up tightly against the noose that bound the forefeet. Still this left his good right hind leg free, and it swung with a ferocity and rapidity that looked like he had a score of hoofs free instead of one. Indeed, his tawny length was darkened by an aureole of flying black hoofs hovering above him. One stroke gave " 'Bars " joy — it caught Tex in the armpit and sent him sprawling, freeing the wicked old Roman-nosed head, and bringing new lust and hope of liberty into the blazing eyes. But rise he could not, with three feet tightly bound, and soon Talbot lit on his neck and again got his muzzle upturned. All the time Llano had been throwing half-hitches of his rope at the flying hoof. [61] REMINISCENCES OF A RANCHMAN Presently one of Llano's throws landed, and a moment later " 'Bars " lay helpless " hog-tied," his four feet securely lashed together. Then the fastening the jacemo on his head was an easy task, so the vicious teeth were avoided. Released, old " 'Bars " shook himself, glared re- sentfully at his enemies, and trotted back into the remouda. Coiling his rope, Llano remarked: " I shore neve' see that much pizon 'n' hell wropped up in airy hoss hide befo'. ' 'Bars ' snaps like a 'gaitor, springs like a * painter,' 'n' strikes V kicks laik his legs was driv' by a little ole steam injen in- siden him. 'N' his eyes! Wal, damn his eyes! I'd druther look intu th' talkin' end o' a gun than t' have ole ' 'Bars ' draw his eyes on me when he hits th' war path. Jest looks like he'd foller yu from Corpus t' Cheyenne t' git yu, 'thout sleepin' or grazin' on th' way, V jest nachally eat yu up wheneve' he cotched yu. Damn his old gory eyes anyway! They shore do talk more war 'n' I kin use. Kid, yu is sutenly wel- come t' that ole yaller hellion, 'n' if I was yu, I'd lope back t' Pawnee Butte, climb her V sun dance thar fer a week tryin' t' fill my medicine bag wi' new tricks 'fore I tackled ■ 'Bars ' agin — 'n' then I'd jest jump off that east cliff ruther'n tackle him." [62] THE TENDERFOOT'S TRIALS To give him time to cool off from the indignities put upon him, I waited a couple of days before ven- turing any new liberties with " Walkingbars." To the infinite surprise of the outfit, he proved still fair- ly amenable to kindness, and so he remained to the end of our association, bar an occasional exhibition of violence to leave it plain his comparative tractabil- ity was due to sufferance rather than to surrender. A few days later, when we were approaching the Owl Creek Ranch and Con realised it was ncaring his last chance to get even, he took a final fall out of me, and it was a good one. One morning at breakfast he called across the camp fire: " Kid, th' ole man told me he wanted a good fresh milk cow soon's I c'd git her t' him. We're a week late now gittin' back, V I reckon he's pow'ful hot 'cause he haint got her befo'. Yestiddy I threw out intu th' cut a shore dandy, three quarter short- horn, V her calf — 'ts jest about what N. R. wants. When yu saddle up I'll cut th' pa'r out t' yu V yu kin run 'em in t' th* home ranch — 'ts only twenty mile, 'n' if yur right peart yu kin run 'em in thar agin noon, V git back t' camp t'night — caint he, boys ? " with a significant glance round the circle of punchers squatted at their breakfast* [63] REMINISCENCES OF A RANCHMAN I noted them look at each other in surprise, but for a long time none spoke. Presently, however, Llano blurted out: " By , Con, I'll bet yu my outfit, gun, saddle V tricks, agin yurn yu caint pick airy cow V calf outen th' herd yu yu'sef, single-handed, kin keep bunched by ther lonesomes, outen th' thousands o' loose range cattle that make this plain look crowded as a bee tepee, an* keep anywhar near a course with 'em fer five miles. Cow'd be sure t' break intu some o' th' loose bunches or get on th' prod 'n' stan' yu off, o' th' calf '11 play out 'n' go into camp while his mammy runs yu foot races try en' t' lose yu from th' calf. 'Sides they's no trail from heah t' Owl Creek Ranch. All yu c'd do 'd be t' pint th' kid th' general direc- tion 'n' tell him t' chase his nose, 'n' what 'n hell's t' keep th' bead o' his tende'foot nose on old Owl Creek? He'd shore git lost so hard it'd keep all th' riders o' th' gineral South Platte round-up a circlin' a week t' git t' throw him intu th' bunch, V by that time he'd be lean 'n' loony 's a sheep herder 'n' wild 's the old ■ Black Stallion o' Chalk Bluffs \" Con scowled angrily at Llano and then said, with a poor attempt at an agreeable smile : " Kid, that freckled short-horn that miscalls his- »elf from Llano *s a short sport 'n' a long shot from [64] THE TENDERFOOT'S TRIALS a real rawhide. He 'lows t' buffalo yu. They ain't airy shore 'nough rawhide in th' bunch as '11 say it caint be did, 'n' did easy," and he looked threateningly about the circle. " O' cou'se it'll keep yu humpin' yu'sef a few, but yu'll see th' end o' th' trail long 'fore night," and he must have added under his breath, any trad but the one to Owl Creek. " Llano, yu speckled ■ dog- gie,' why d n yur fool soul, ef we didn't have this bunch o' cows under herd I'd jest call yer hand V set yu afoot, fer I'd gamble all I got I c'd take my top cuttin' hoss V run airy cow V calf in the bunch intu th' Owl Creek pens 'thout reinin' or quirtin'." This settled the question for me. I knew the job was considered a deadly hard one by every man in camp, knew it by their very silence — proving it one of the few subjects too serious to talk and jest about — but jumped at it gladly as another opportunity in the struggle to lose my identity as a tenderfoot. While I was saddling my toughest horse, outside of " Walkingbars," whom I did not dare trust on such a trip, Tex strolled over for a friendly word : " Kid, Con's stacked yu up agin it good 'n' plenty this time. Th* range is black with L. F. V N. D. cows every jump o' the way. Ef yu git t' pen that cow V calf at Owl Creek it'll be one o' old Mahster's red- [66] REMINISCENCES OF A RANCHMAN headedest miracles, 'side which a feller a walkin' on water or a climbin outen th' belly o' a big fish 's easy 's takin' yu mo'nin , coffee. But yu kin make a hell o' a stagger at it 'n' do yur d dest, V yu might draw luck 'nough t' git thar; ef yu do, thar ain't airy puncher 'tween Goliad 'n' Greeley but 'd admire t' throw in wi' yu as a expert rawhide, 'n' t' pump lead at any critter that says yu ain't straight off th' haid wate's o' Bitter Creek. " Th' main trick, Kid, 's t' keep her off th' prod V sweet-tempered. Ef yu crowds her too hard 'n' gits her on th' fight, it's ' Katy bar th' door ' wi' yu, 'n' adio8 t' her 'n' her calf. Put in most o' yu time a shovin' th' loose range stock back away from yu, 'n' keep her a driftin' tow'rd Owl Creek so easy like she 'lows she's go in' 'cause she jest nachally has im- po'tant bizness up thar she's bound t' 'tend t' he'se'f. " Two miles up Willow 's th' uppe' pen, 'n' thar yu strikes off no'west. Our waggon sign comin' down '11 be all washed out by th' rains, but ef yu kin keep a no'west cou'se fo' fifteen miles yu'll hit th' west end o' th' Chalk Bluffs, wi' a lone butte a standin' out by hi'se'f, 'n' yu goes up ove' th' pass 'tween th' butte V th' main bluffs, 'n' 't th' top o' th' pass yu kin see th' ranch three mile away. " Ef yu gets to th' east o' no'th hit'll take yu intu [66] THE TENDERFOOT'S TRIALS deep bays o' th' bluffs whar th' country's all standin 1 on aidge V '11 stand yu on yu' haid. Ef yu b'ars too far west hit'll be lay out unde' yu saddle blanket, fo' yu an' keen sabe case whar yu brings up. Hit's fo'ty mile no'th to th' U. P., same west to th' D. P., fifty south to th* Platte, same east t' Crow Creek, wi* only one othe' ranch in the squar', Brewster's, so yu ain't liable to be crowded none, 'cept to know straight up from sideways. Ef yu gits plumb lost, jest git down, onsaddle V rest V graze yu' hoss V study hit ove' plenty. Then pick a cou'se 6omewhars — anywhars — fork yu' cayuse V keep goin' plumb straight twell yu runs up agin somethin' 'sides jest room t' ride in or meets up wi' somebody that's at hisse'f V kin git down, V make a map in th' sand V show yu whar yu're at." And this was all Tex, or, indeed, anybody, could do for me. I mounted and rode out to the herd already string- ing out on the trail. While Con was riding up the line searching for the cow and calf he had selected, Jack Talbot rode up and observed : " Mistah Kid, I shore gits from unde' my hat to yu gall. Ole N. R. 'n' his'n could live on Owl milk twell th' hull d n fambly hooted every blamed time they [67] REMINISCENCES OF A RANCHMAN tried t' say somethin' 'fore I'd try t' run 'em a lone cow 'n' calf from Willow t' th' home ranch. Yu has my respec's f o' li'tin' in t' do hit ; 'n' ef yu gits her thar, I'll make that d d or'nery Con Humphreys kill the biggest maverick in the bunch 'n' write yu on th' inside o' hit's hide, wi' waggon dope fo' ink 'n' his pinted ole nose fo' a pen, a full diplomi for bein' th' ring-tailedst puncher 'tween th' Brazos V Bow River, shore's my daddy's name's Talbot." By the time Jack had finished his friendly remarks, Con had found the cow, cut her from the herd, and yelled to me to come and take her, which I did. She was a half-bred Durham, with the breadth and depth of quarter of the better breed, but the long, sharp horns of her Spanish ancestry, wild, like the rest, as a deer, and was followed by a calf, two or three weeks old. Keen to break back to the herd, she gave me a lively run to carry her past and beyond the point of the herd, but once ahead, I had comparatively easy going for two miles up Willow Valley, and two miles more out northwest from the upper pen, for the sun was scarcely a half-hour high, and the range cattle were still well out in the hills, feeding. I crowded her little as possible, both to avoid get- ting her on the fight and to save the calfs strength, 168] THE TENDERFOOT'S TRIALS for once the calf played out or the mother got on the prod, driving must cease. All about me lay the billowy plains, rising gently into tall, rounded yellow ridges, one like another as two peas, and then sinking into valleys, rising and sinking, ever rising and sinking. Indeed, the land- scape, look where one would, was devoid of helpful landmark of any description save the dark blue line, nearly a hundred miles west of me, that marked the great wall of the Rockies, with Pike's Peak its farthest visible buttress to the south, breaking down to more modest height north of Gray's Peak, and stretching away into the north till lost entirely to view behind distant swells of the plains. And even the Rockies helped me none in keeping my course, for north of Gray's Peak the visible reach of the range was, at my distance, without distinguish- ing uplift to help me steer by. About four miles out from camp and two north of the upper Willow corrals, my real troubles began, and they were real enough. The plains were alive, swarming everywhere with cattle, grazing singly and in groups, and the cow, which I was not long in dub- bing " Con's Revenge," broke at top speed in any and all directions that ranged widest from our proper route. She would dash off at top speed, a pace the [69] REMINISCENCES OF A RANCHMAN calf could not follow and that quickly distanced it, and it took near the best gait of my horse to head and turn her back, often to find the calf clumsily gallop- ing toward another (by this time) nearer bunch. Then the two had to be thrown together and turned away from the group the calf was nearing. By the time we were out about eight miles, as near as I could judge, from the pen, " Con's Revenge " had gotten tired down till her breaks were at a trot instead of a gallop, my horse was showing some dis- tress, and " Mrs. Revenge " made two breaks to charge and chase me when I sought to turn her back. So, seeing there was nothing for it but patience and time, I swept out in a wide circle ahead, yelling and shooting, and scattering the range stock to right and left, and then wheeled back — only to see " Mrs. Revenge " trotting away toward Willow fast as the calf could follow, requiring another half-mile dash to overtake and turn her ! And this wearing, heart-breaking work continued for hours, with occasional brief dismounts, to loosen my saddle, and cool and rest my horse when range cattle were at a safe distance, usually after one of my short runs to scatter them. I had hoped to sight the point of Chalk Bluffs be- [70] THE TENDERFOOT'S TRIALS fore noon, but the day dragged on into mid-after- noon with naught but the swells and dips of the plains, and the distant blue line of the Rockies in sight. The keeping a course had been made all the more difficult by my constant dashes to right and left, stampeding away the range cattle, and by this time I hadn't the ghost of an idea of my real position, ex- cept that I felt sure I must have passed the bluff point too far south to see it. All certain was that I still had my charges safely in hand, now so leg-weary they were glad to rest when I had to leave them to clear the way, the cow so ill-tempered she often charged or stood and threatened me for five or ten minutes, eyes blazing, horns tossing. With night approaching, a storm coming rapidly down on me from the northeast, and my horse close to " dead on his legs," I decided to take a chance on my judgment, and swung my course, as well as I could, to the east of north. And lucky I was to make the shift, for in half an hour a great butte rose out of the plains a trifle to the right of my course. It did not look like the point of Chalk Bluffs to me, but it was something to cling to and I made for it. Aa hour later, in the very nick of time before a [71] REMINISCENCES OF A RANCHMAN heavy plunging rain came down and shut out any distant view, off in the north, to the left of the butte, I saw a big ranch and corrals which must be N. R.'s. In the storm cow and calf became utterly unmanage- able, and two miles south of the ranch I left them and rode in, to make sure of cover before I lost my direction in the storm. As I neared the ranch the downpour ceased, and the sun came out, showing me good old N. R. him- self, comfortably settled in an easy chair on the porch. " Well, kid, where's the round-up ? " was his greet- ing. " Camped to-night at the Upper Willow pen," I replied. " Well, what are you doing away from it ? Come a little too tough and turned in your string of horses and quit? " he asked. " No ; Con started me at sun-up this morning to drive you in a milk cow and calf," I answered. " Started you alone to drive a wild cow and calf twenty miles through range cattle? The h he did! Wonder if he was mad or crazy. Well, where is she, anyhow ? " he snapped. " Two miles south of the ranch I left her in the storm and came in," I said. [72] THE TENDERFOOTS TRIALS "Oh, you did! Well, your orders were to bring her here> were they not ? " " Yes." " Well, I guess you better get her." " Give me a fresh horse and I will — mine's dead on its legs." " Should think he'd be dead all over ; you can rope any you like out of the pen." A few minutes later I loped away south on a fresh mount, had the luck to find my charges, somewhat cooled off by the storm and rested, and drifting them on slowly and gently, succeeded in safely penning them just at sunset ; they were so worn and tired they marched up to and through the corral gate like a bunch of wild horses after a " nine-day walk-down." As I was unsaddling, N. R. strolled up and ob- served : " Kid, you've sure won puncher spurs to-day." And that night I dined luxuriously at the big ranch house table. [73] CHAPTER FOUR THE TENDERFOOT'S FIRST HERD THE first herd I bought and decorated with the Three Crow brand, with a " crop " of the right and " under half crop " of the left as an earmark, brought me so many anxieties that matured into full-grown troubles and so many trou- bles that developed anxieties that I am not likely ever to forget it. And yet the herd was not a big one ; in fact, it was so small and punchers' wages were so high for an outfit going north into the Indian country that I cut expenses by dispensing with the hiring of a foreman and undertaking to run the outfit myself. For an outfit of thoroughbred Texas brush-split- ters a tenderfoot owner was bad enough, always the object of ill-concealed distrust and contempt, and only endurable so long as the pay was sure and mounts plenty and sound, while a tenderfoot fore- man was nothing short of a downright humiliation, his simplest orders a personal affront hard for these [74] THE TENDERFOOT'S FIRST HERD sturdy, masterful experts at their hazardous calling to keep from resenting. Indeed, even old political lines were a fruitful source of dislike and ill-will for the tenderfoot — who was nearly always a Northerner, while all the best punch- ers were Texans, the elders themselves ex-Confed- erate soldiers, the younger sons of Wearers of the Gray, men in whose honest partisan hearts still glowed bright the embers of the flame of Civil War that a decade before had swept their well-beloved South and left it prostrate. It was, therefore, little to be wondered at that " a blue-bellied Yankee kid " had little of their liking for his personality and less of their respect for what he knew. In fact, I doubt if I ever should have succeeded in persuading an outfit of real rawhides to ride out under my leadership but for dear old Tex, who had quit the N. D. outfit to follow me. Tex put the situation and the temper of the men better than I have when he said : ■ 01' Man "—though only twenty, I became " th' oP man " as soon as I started in to hire an outfit — "yu see it's thisaway. Cow punchin* 's a pr'fession no feller ever'll live long enough t* git t' know th' hull way from hoofs t* horns. [75] REMINISCENCES OF A RANCHMAN " Th' oldest rawhide livin', one that rid a runnin' iron fo' a hobby-hoss, wi' a rawhide hobble fo' a bridle, 'fore he was big enough t' fork a pony, 'n' was bornded wi' cow sense from his daddy, 'n' was throw- in' strings at th' cat 'fore he could swing a rope, has t' cash in his last stack o' breath, 'n' turn into buz- zard feed 'thout learnin' all th' meanness plannin' below th' horn wrinkles 'v a moss-back. " As fo' cayuses, t' say nothin' o' spoiled outlaws, thar ain't airy buster from th' Brazos kin tell what new bunch o' hell they 9 re goin' t' hand him, o' whether she's comin' from th' front o' th' stern end. " 'N' when yu gits t' handlin' 'v 'em in big bunches, cows o' cayuses, ol' Mahste' hisse'f even caint sorta reckon what they'll up 'n' do. " So you see, 01' Man, it's jest nachally mos' pow'- ful hard fo' a bunch o' long-horn rawhides like we-all t' git t' see how 'n hell a short-horn, stall-fed Yankee like yu-all, that don't know mesquite from zacaton o 9 sweetbreads from kidney fat, 's a goin' t' git t' handle a cow outfit anywheres, 'specially up in th' Injun country — V them red jaspers 's a harder bunch t' git t' sabe than cows o' cayuses ! " 'Pears t' we-all like it'll be nigh hell fo' yu-all 'n' plumb hell for we-all — yu-all a strainin' o' yu in- tellec' tryin' t' give orders 'bout work you don't sabe, [76] THE TENDERFOOT'S FIRST HERD V we-all a bustin 9 o' ourn tryin' t' sabe what yu-all's try in' t' git out o' yu haid ! m But she's a go, all th' same ! I got a bunch o' ivory-handled red-sashers as '11 shore start out — 'n' '11 stay ef they kin git t' stand her. " How 'd I git 'em? Why, jest tellin' 'v 'em what yu done wi' that old hellion o' a outlaw, * Walking- bars,' 't nobody else could handle 'thout nigh killin' him, 'n' how yu, single-handed, driv' th' lone cow 'n' calf twenty mile through th' heart o' th' Iliff rango t' Owl Creek. " When I got done, th' boys they 'llowed yu was packin' a pow'ful heavy jag o' gall o' luck, o' Injun medicine, they couldn't make out which, 'n' they jest nachally figured 't either one might do, 'n' 't they'd take a chanct that she'd hold out V stay wi' yu. That feller Cress he'ped by him sayin' yu shore must have some hoss sense 'n' a leetlc smatterin' o' cow sense. " So, 01' Man, she's a go!" And Tex drew a deep breath and leaned heavily up- on the polished walnut of George Masten's bar, weak, limp, exhausted from the sudden loss, in a few min- utes, of more language than he usually gave up in a month. The getting my money's worth in the purchase of a herd was a most difficult task. [77] REMINISCENCES OF A RANCHMAN Of relative values of cattle and horses I knew liter- ally nothing, and prices varied with the breed, quality, age and condition; the cheapest, the gaunt, leggy, wild long-horn stock of straight Spanish breed come out of the chapparal along the lower reaches of the Rio Grande ; the dearest, the thick-loined, deep-quar- tered, dark red half-breed short-horn Oregonians, descended from some of the best Missouri and Illi- nois strains, trailed by emigrants across the plains in the early 50s. Between these two extremes were two intermediate grades, the Middle Texans and Utahs. Of course in each grade there was wide difference in quality and therefore in values. Then, to make the tenderfoot buyer's task almost hopeless, a separate price was set on cows and calves, in one class, and on yearlings, two, three, and four- year-olds, in four distinct classes; and classification by age had to be made on the open plains, while the cattle were run in a narrow and steady stream be- tween the mounted buyer and seller. While really the only practicable method of classi- fication, it plainly gave the canny, hawk-eyed old- time trail drivers a terrible advantage over the tenderfoot they never neglected — a chance to class many a big calf as a yearling, long yearlings as two- [78] THE TENDERFOOTS FIRST HERD year-olds, etc., and thus to heavily mark up the aver- age per capita price of the herd. And not always content even with this advantage, there was one notorious bit of mixed humour and thrift, where 1,200 cattle were converted into 2,400, in making the running tally or count, by selecting an isolated hill as the place of their delivery to their monocled, crop-carrying, straight-spurred British buyer, and the simple expedient of running the tal- lied cattle round the hill for recount until their actual number was doubled ! Thus were staid English sover- eigns captured and converted into laughter-scream- ing American eagles ! But this was an exception proving a rule. For years cattle were dealt in by thousands, run- ning high in six figures in value, on contracts (for two to three months future delivery) which often remained mere verbal agreements, or at best were represented by a few lines rudely pencilled on the back of a tomato can label ! No matter how largely the market prices in the in- terval might vary against either buyer or seller, I never heard of the case of a man getting the worst of such a trade undertaking to repudiate his agreement — some from motives of inherent honesty, some from an inside hunch that any attempt at repudiation [79] REMINISCENCES OF A RANCHMAN would promptly result in the distribution through his system of more lead than he could comfortably carry. In those days cowmen's differences never got into the civil courts and very seldom into the criminal — never, in fact, except where the party in chief in- terest ran out of .45 cartridges or into a prairie dog hole. Squabble how they might over classification, cow- men always delivered and received as agreed. The pitfalls of classification I promptly side- stepped, by deciding to buy a straight bunch of cows and calves. The mystery of relative values I had to find the key for, and old newspaper instinct promptly sug- gested — pick the biggest winner and study him at his work. At that time Alex Swan was the largest buyer of trail cattle and the most experienced and successful cowman in Wyoming, so generally conceded. Thus it happened that, for a month, everywhere that Alex went the tenderfoot went too. Every herd Swan examined, I was seldom out of earshot — and usually contrived to learn the prices he bid, whether they were accepted or rejected. Finally a day came when he refused a bunch about [80] THE TENDERFOOT'S FIRST HERD my size (716 cows, each with a calf by its side) on a difference of a dollar a head with the seller, and when he was gone, after much palaver and the inevitable cow-trade accompaniment of stick whittling, I got the seller to split the dollar and bought the bunch. The herd bought was delivered to me at the home ranch of the seller (who had himself driven them from Utah), near the summit of one of the lowest passes in the Rockies. Delivery was not finished till so late in the afternoon we were able to drive no more than a scant four miles from the seller's ranch, and com- pelled to camp in the heart of his range. And since he had that same day turned loose on his range 2,000 head bearing the same brand as my pur- chase, the last possible care was necessary against straying or a stampede. Any there so lost it would be extremely difficult, and perhaps even impossible, to recover, for the seller was reputed an adept at making the best of a profitable opportunity. Camp was made beside a spring at the edge of a fairly level grassy glade two or three hundred yards wide. To the west of the glade lay a mile of tangled dead fall and thick strewn boulders, breaking sharp- ly down at its western edge, in an almost precipitous descent of two or three hundred feet, to a small tributary of the Laramie River. It was as rough a [81] REMINISCENCES OF A RANCHMAN bit of country as even the combined effect of glacier, fire and wind could possibly produce, almost utterly impassable to a horseman in daylight. As Cress put it while we were eating supper : " I shore don't like th' look o' that old lobo that tallied t' us, V I likes his motions less than his looks. With his p'inted ole nose 'n' yaller eyes, he favours a wolf more'n any human I ever threw an eye on, 'n' his turnin' a big bunch o' his drive loose on th' range in th* same road-brand you done bot under, looks like he was figurin' on our makin' a big loosin' 'fore we kin git out o' his range or git t' know any 'v 'em well 'nough t' tell 'em by th' flesh marks 'n' make a reclaim. Reckon we-all better make her a double- guard after th' first relief — for any hell he tries to kick up in the way o' a loose blanket or chap-shakin' stampede '11 come along o' midnight. " If they jumps west into that snarl o' wind- failed dead timber 'n' rocks, I allows no hoss ever foaled is liable to live thro' it long 'nough t' git t' head 'n' turn 'em. 'N' if ever they reaches th' aidge o' that thar canon, yu're set back, 01' Man, 'n' that ole lobo'a set up by every one goin' over, a makin' ole lobo so pleased with hisse'f he's liable t' tickle plumb t' death if we-all don't empty a few loads o' lead into his carcass t' divert him. It's shore head 'em quick, [82] THE TENDERFOOT'S FIRST HERD OP Man, if they jumps. 'N' we kin thank ole Mahster they're cows, 'stead o' steers ! " Of course the chance that a herd of cows and calves, thoroughly trail broke and well-grazed and watered, would stampede of a fair night was scarcely one in a thousand; but if, from any circumstance, they should jump their bed ground, Cress put the certainty of heavy losses none too strongly. So I decided to take the first relief myself, giving Cress, as mover of the motion, the honour of sitting his horse all night with me, with the understanding that at 10:30 p.m. Tex should join us with the balance of the outfit, every man on his best horse. Surely the eight of us could hold them, come what might. My mount was a great, powerful fifteen and three- quarter hand stocking-legged sorrel, far better than a half-breed. I had bought him of Arthur Coffee, who had brought him through from Texas that spring with a drive of 500 unbroke mustangs " for stam- pede insurance," as Coffee put it. " And if there's anything on these plains he can't outrun, short of somebody's thoroughbred, I'll give you back your $150; our remouda stampeded eight times without the loss of a single horse, and it was 1 Stocking ' turned them every time," Coffee added. [88] REMINISCENCES OF A RANCHMAN " Stocking " was that rare equine combination of steel spring muscles and fierce spirit that leaves the best horseman in doubt how long he may remain his master; a horse that, shirking nothing, grandly charges everything you put him at — and takes it or dies — a horse out of a million to have between your knees in any great emergency. And that night " Stocking " proved himself far and away the cheapest " insurance " I ever bought, for he certainly saved me the better part of $20,000! It was a perfect night in late September, without moon, but cloudless, the stars glittering like pale rubies in their azure setting, dark, of course, and yet far short of the brooding black of an Eastern night, the last night to look for a stampede unless from will- ful mischief or from whatever of the supernatural agencies sometimes in an instant turn a sleeping herd into a running, raging animal torrent nigh impossible to stem. Round and round we rode, Cress and I, jingling our spurs and humming snatches of song to avoid startling our charges by sudden silent appearance out of the darkness. There they lay, bedded down in a circle, quiet and peaceful as pigs in a pen, a chorus of cud-chewing [84] THE TENDERFOOT'S FIRST HERD rising from the wakeful, and of contented deep bass sighs of surfeit from the sleepers. It was too early in the night for any straying from within the herd, so we could give most of our attention to any trouble approaching from without. But no trouble came, nothing happened — until nearly ten o'clock. At the moment, I was riding on the far eastern edge of the circle. Suddenly, with no hint of alarm or untoward inci- dent, up rose the herd as one and off the bed ground they poured in mad gallop, by every ill fatality due west! Caught unexpected just on the edge of the surg- ing bovine torrent, Cress and his horse (I later learned) were struck and knocked prostrate, luckily to one side of its path, the horse so badly injured he was of little further use on the run. Instantly they jumped I loosened rein and gave " Stocking " spur and quirt at every bound, racing for the lead. In a moment, it seemed, we were out of the glade and into the dead fall. Just as I entered the timber I heard two shots be- hind and to the left of me. [85] REMINISCENCES OF A RANCHMAN Beside me roared the maddened herd, in dense mass. Above the thunder of their hoofs and the clashing of their horns rose the crash of rending timber, through which they drove like a heavily loaded train through empty box cars. They appeared irresistible. As well try to check Niagara or stay a flooding tide ! And on we went, " Stocking " and I gaining on them at every jump. Brave old " Stocking " seemed to have the eyes of * cat and the leaping muscles of a black-tailed buck. Smashing through tangles of dead limbs, bound- ing over great gray trunks, leaping boulders, dodg- ing the impossible jumps in mighty swerves that taxed my strength to keep my seat, " Stocking " raced successfully in the dark across the worst piece of country I believe it was ever given a horse to sur- vive, and carried me to the front of the leaders, in the first half mile! It was splendid, epic, as proud a moment as equine history affords. And no spur or quirt blow touched him after we reached the timber — I was too busy struggling to keep my seat ! On a less heroic horse than " Stocking " I dare say [86] THE TENDERFOOT'S FIRST HERD I should have funked running squarely in the lead of the bloody, heaving, hideous mass hard upon our heels, for there to fall meant instant mangling — death. But with his straining muscles superbly answering every call, his great barrel pulsing evenly between my thighs without throb or catch of distress, some- how his mighty strength of will and thews got into mine, and lead them all we did, I yelling and shooting into the leaders fast as I could empty and reload my gun. Presently, with now and then a leader falling to ray shots, the herd swerved a trifle north. A moment later my men from camp began arriving one by one, adding their yells and shots and thrash- ing slickers to mine. Five minutes later the stampede was broken and the herd " milling " furiously, running round and round in a compact, solid mass. Fifteen minutes later we had the mill broken, and Were quietly moving the herd back to the bed ground. When morning came we found twenty-six dead in the timber, of trampling or shots, while many were dehorned or otherwise cut and mutilated. The actual cause of the stampede we never knew, but we had something more tangible than suspicions. [87] REMINISCENCES OF A RANCHMAN And it was good old faithful Tex who gave them point. " When yu-all 'n' Cress takes first relief," he said, " I slips out 'round th' herd 'n' stays coyotin' 'round back 'n' forth 'tween th' herd 'n' ole lobo's camp. Never seed nothin' till th' herd jumped, 'n' then here come a feller quirtin' 'n' spurrin' south I knowed couldn't be yu-all, 'n' so I lends him two loads out o' my gun 'fore he gits losed in th' dark. This mornin' I circles for his trail 'n' got it — 'n' also a spur, shot loose at th' concho, 'n' besides th' juicy joy o' seein' right smart o' blood along his tracks. If we only had these yere cows branded, I'd be in favour o' turnin' all other holts loose 'till we-all'd shot the lights outen everything that wears a gun on this d d thievin' ranch." The tenderfoot was getting on, but Tex's sug- gestion was so far a hotter pace than even " Stock- ing's," that the culprits were left with the will for the deed. While the plan was later changed, it was then my intention ultimately to drive northwest into the Fort Casper country in search of a range for the herd. The outpost of range settlement in that direction at the time was the Loomis Ranch, at the west end of the Laramie Canon and forty miles north of the U. P., [88] THE TENDERFOOT'S FIRST HERD then abandoned on account of Sioux horse-stealing raids that spring. However, hearing it had large corrals in good con- dition, thither we drove, only to find the chutes of the corrals in such bad condition they could not be used. This compelled us to rope and throw each cow and calf singly, one rider roping the head, another rider the heels, a third man " tailing down," and a fourth applying the branding-iron. It was hard, wearing work, so hard on the horses that by the time the last cow was branded no horses remained with the strength or soundness of back to justify their use in calf branding. Grazed slowly through over the Bitter Creek trail, the calves were almost as heavy and strong as Texas yearlings, so heavy that the roping and throwing them afoot exhausted and irritated the men till they became nearly unmanageable. The second evening of this work I overheard Mack Lambert holding forth to his bed-mate: " What 'n hell 'd we-all want t' hire out for t' a fool tenderfoot kid that caint tell a yearling from a coyote a couple o' hundred yards off? Fine bunch o' dilberries, we-uns, a lettin' him fetch us out V set us afoot th' first ten days ! I'd druther go down into th' settlements 'n' hire out t' some ole long-whiskered [89] REMINISCENCES OF A RANCHMAN granger t' shovel hay 'n' dig post holes than be made t' work cows afoot like a locoed sheep-herder. It's me for a jump, pronto ! " Indeed, it was plain this sentiment pervaded the entire outfit, bar Tex and Cress, who worked faith- fully wherever I put them. The next day the general irritation bred a crisis. Tired and slack in his work, Mack several times allowed calves such free run on his rope that they smashed into Howe, who was " tailing down " for another roper. Twice I had warned him to be more careful — the only result a surly " bueno." Presently another of Mack's calves crashed into Howe, its sharp hoof badly tearing his hand. Instant- ly he sprang to his feet, seized a branding-iron and felled Mack, luckily with no more than a glancing blow, and jumped on and began beating him. Too short-handed to have a man disabled, I grabbed the men and pulled them apart and or- dered them back to their work, and they sullenly complied. For perhaps fifteen minutes there was peace in the pen, and then suddenly Cress ran up and told me Mack was coming from the waggon with my rifle — must have slipped out of the pen unobserved to arm [90] THE TENDERFOOTS FIRST HERD himself, as he, with several others, had left their belts at the waggon. Plainly a kill-up would be more disastrous to work than a beat-up, and must be stopped. As I jumped over the corral fence my pistol scab- bard slipped 6quarely in front of me — fortunately. Mack was rapidly approaching me. Just as I hit the ground, I saw him throw a cart* ridge into the great .45-120 Sharps, and cock it. We met. "What are you doing with that gun, Mack?" I asked. " Goin' V kill Howe, by ," he growled. " Drop her instantly, Mack, and hop into that pen and go on roping," I bluffed. " See yer hull tenderfoot layout in hell first — it's Howe fer th' buzzards ! " "Drop her!" I repeated. " By , I'll beef yu, ef yu'r bound t' have it, V then git Howe ! " and instantly he covered me with the full-cocked rifle, its great muzzle within two feet of my face, his snaky, wicked right eye gleaming maliciously at me over the gun sights. And right there somebody about my size wished " the party was to hell and he was to home," and wondered why a threatening gun muzzle had been [91] REMINISCENCES OF A RANCHMAN described as looking no larger than a hogshead when this one was undoubtedly wide as the yawning future. But badly scared as I was, I realised it meant death to lose that glittering eye for an instant, and con- trived to hold it, I'm sure I don't know how. And so we stood, both motionless, I verily believe two minutes, long enough anyway for me to re- cover wits and tongue, and I know that must have taken time. There was nothing for it but a cold blazer, so I remarked, with a struggle for a grin that made the muscles of my face ache : " Well, Mack, you are a four-flusher ! Don't dare turn her loose, do you? Know if you did Tex and Cress would have your hide hung up to dry before sundown ! Why, there they go for the waggon now ! " And before Mack could recover from his impulsive half-turn — to find that none but our two selves were outside the pen — my pistol was out of the scabbard and inserted sufficiently within his ear to convince him he had no further use for a rifle. A hint to Mack that if he made any more gun plays or so much as batted an eye, I would help Howe rope and drag him, turned a kicker into a fairly good worker, and at the same time materially helped the general discipline of the outfit for a day or two. [92] CHAPTER FIVE A COWBOY MUTINY MY trouble with my first bunch of cow punch- ers did not end with the termination of , Mack Lambert's war play. With horses worn out and the men forced to work afoot in the Loomis's corrals, the task of branding seven hundred three- fourths-grown Oregon calves, heavy as Texas yearlings, was hard on the strength and trying on the temper of master and men. Moreover, as the men had predicted to Tex, and he had plainly put it to rac before we left Cheyenne, I knew that I was making none too brilliant a success of my undertaking to act as my own foreman. Ig- norance inspired many an ill-considered order that neither shortened nor lightened the work. Presently the storm broke. One morning, as if by concerted agreement, all the men but Cress and Tex began disregarding my orders, openly jeered at them, idled through the day's work as they pleased, and freely cursed their stupidity for hiring out to a [98] REMINISCENCES OF A RANCHMAN " blue-bellied Yankee kid tenderfoot," and two showed a sullen ugliness that threatened personal abuse or attack. I was at my wits' end — ^desperate. I must be master of my outfit or quit the country, that was certain. Of course I might hire a foreman, but I felt I could not afford it — and besides could not get my own con- sent to abandon the task I had undertaken. Moreover, I realised that unless I quickly re-estab- lished my authority, I should soon lose the fidelity of even Cress and Tex. Only one sure way out of the dilemma appeared — to discharge the six kickers, fire them in the way punchers dread most and never accept without a gun play, except from a boss against whom they dare show no resentment, viz : " to set them afoot to walk and pack their blankets to town." With Lookout the nearest railway station and the walking none too good over the forty intervening miles of thick sage brush, the chances were about six to one that my career would end right there in an unmarked grave, with only the whistle of the winds through the sage and a coyote chorus for a requiem. But the chance had to be taken ; there was nothing else for it. So that evening, during the first night [94] A COWBOY MUTINY guard, I made an opportunity to talk to Cress and Tex and learn if, as I believed, I could rely on their support. Briefly I stated that I proposed to set the six afoot the next morning, and, if I succeeded in getting away with the play, to myself drive our four-mule team to Lookout and bring out a new outfit of men and fresh supplies from Laramie City, provided the two of them would do their best to hold the herd during the three days of ray absence : " Stay with them, if you can, and if you lose them all you'll hear no kick from me," I finished. Of aid in dealing with the insubordinates I asked none: that was my row, not theirs, and besides the task I set them was about enough, for it meant at least three days practically without sleep or rest. Tex gripped my bridle arm with his great hairy hand and softly queried : " Or Man, does yu shorely mean it ? Thar's two in that bunch kin draw V kill yu 'fore yu could get y'ur gun out." " Certainly, Tex, I mean it," I answered. " I've just got it to do, must take the chance. Maybe they won't call the play; if they call, I'll have to do my best, that's all — and if they get me just write a line [95] REMINISCENCES OF A RANCHMAN to at , and say what happened." Both sat silent in their saddles so long I began to fear they were hesitating, but the moment Tex spoke I knew it was sheer astonishment that had chained their tongues. With a grim smile, the loudest expression of pleasure or merriment Tex ever indulged in, he said to Cress: " Now, Sam, ain't yu d n glad yu come? Didn't I tell yu that ef our 01' Man wa'n't nothin' but a little ol' tende'foot kid, he'd make a sooner, poco ti- empof 'Pears like he's comin' some a'ready, 'n' I allows all hell ain't a goin t' stop yu 'n' me a stayin' with him t' th' last jump o' airy trail he reckons he wants t' foller!" And then to me: " 01' Man, 'pears t' me like thar must be a Bitter Creek back whar yu come from, 'n' that yu must a been foaled up nigh th' headwaters. Why, yu d n little ol' wolf, yu jest howl all yu want tu; 'n' ef that bunch gits t' junin' 'round when yu jumps 'em, 'n' yu caint eat 'em up fast 'nough by y'ur lonesome, Cress 'n' me 'U jest nachally lite in V he'p yu chew up th' hull passlc. " Stay with th' herd? Will we? Bet y'ur alee we'll [96] A COWBOY MUTINY stay with her, V not lose yu airy a cow or calf, V what's more, we'll stay wi' vu V y'urn anywhar till hell's froze intu a skatin' pond.* " Yu shore got a powerful variegated lot o' fool idees in that thar little nut o' y'urn 'bout runnin* a cow outfit, V ef thar's airy show to git started at th' wrong end o' a job, it's been yu fer a loose tail- holt every time. But with this bunch o' hosstile sports y'ur shore makin' no mistake in th' game y'ur puttin' up, V Cress V me sits in V draws cards cheerful, don't we, Cress?" " We draws V plays th' hand plumb t' th' finish, 01' Man," answered Sam. " Keep y'ur eye screwed tight on airy feller y'ur talkin' t' p'rticular, V be sure we'll 'tend t' all th' pressin'est wants o* his side partners. Lite into y'ur blankets V pound y'ur ear a plenty V don't worry none, for hits 'dobe dol- lars t' tlacos we'll either stampoodle that bunch 'thout throwin' lead or else git t' dance on their graves." " Good, boys," I responded ; " I knew I could bank on you, and I'm not likely to forget what you've said and are ready to do. I'll call the game right after breakfast." And then I rode into camp, staked my horse and rolled up in my blankets as advised. But it was little •Tex stayed with me fire years; Cress, fourteen yean.— Tax Acmoa. [97] REMINISCENCES OF A RANCHMAN indeed I slept until near morning, for the task ahead of me was one the oldest and toughest trail boss could not contemplate with any large measure of enthu- siasm. The six men I had to deal with already held my authority in contempt and were ugly and resentful. Each was doubly armed, with Winchester and six- shooter. Four were reckless enough to throw lead if they felt they ought to, and two were mean enough, I well knew, to welcome the chance, both with notches on their guns unfairly won by " getting the drop." Thus it seemed certain that when they were forced to confront the insult and hardship of being " set afoot to pack their blankets to town," a bad mix-up was inevitable. We breakfasted, as usual, shortly after dawn, be- fore good sun-up, squatted closely about the camp- fire, for already at that altitude ice formed every night along the margin of the Laramie. It was a silent, surly group, with none of the usual jest and badinage over " hen-skin blankets " and " fat hul- dys " a cold morning usually inspired. Thus coffee, beans and beef were soon chambered, cigarettes rolled and lit, and the outfit rose. Mack Lambert was the first to step to his saddle and pick up his rope to catch his morning mount. [98] A COWBOY MUTINY " Drop that rope, you ! " I called. ■ What in hell " " Drop it and cut the back talk ! It means that your rope don't go on any more Three Crow horses, and that you and the five other kickers have your time, quit camp in ten minutes and hit the trail for the railroad, packing your blankets, and that any man of you that don't feel like he'd enjoy the prom- enade can go into action right now ! " As I spoke I had been advancing on Mack until, finished, we stood close face to face. At first his expression was one of blank astonish- ment, and then, as he came to realise that he, a full- pledged puncher from the Brazos, and his five saddle mates, none of whom probably had walked as much as five miles straight away in five years, were about to suffer the indignity of being set afoot forty miles from the railway, the lips tightened and eyea glow- ered murderous hate. " You ! You, bald-faced tenderfoot ! Fire us t' hoof it t' town ! It's a dog trot for hell for you, V you starts right now ! " And at the word his hand flashed back to his pistol, but, before his fingers could have tightened on the butt, I landed a violent kick fair on the flat of Mack's shin bone, that doubled him up, howling with the pain, [99] REMINISCENCES OF A RANCHMAN and gave me a chance to snatch his pistol from its scabbard and give him a tap on the jaw with it that put him temporarily out of pain. Then out came my own gun, and with the pair in my hands I whirled on the bunch, wondering how it came they had left me still alive, and expecting the next instant to be my last. But there was nothing doing! All necessary was already done — most efficiently — by dear old Tex. And I had been so much preoccupied that I had not even noted the crash of his blow that put an end to the one other attempt to turn our little drama into a tragedy. While I was occupied with Mack, Clark, the other " bad man " of the lot, stood ten steps on my left and a little behind me. At the instant Mack started to draw, Clark had jerked Lis gun, but before it was fairly free of the scabbard, Tex had hit him a terrible smash with his pistol, breaking his nose, laying him out stiff, and quickly swelling both eyes until they were in poor shape for accurate snap-shooting. And then I found that, all the time, quiet, easy- going Sam Cress had been sitting comfortably on the ground, with his back against a waggon wheel, the left knee drawn up for a convenient elbow rest, [100] A COWBOY MUTINY and his Winchester in his hands, ready to pot any that needed it! Just as I turned from Mack, Sam remarked : " Fellers, th' kid's dealin' th' only game thar's any show t' sit in 'round here ; I'm in th' ■ lookout ' chair, V Tex is keepin' cases. Ef she looks good t' yu, we'll be glad t' go yu a whirl. What say? n But there was no " say." The two toughest were down, unconscious, the rest cowed; and a half hour later the six insubordinates sullenly but quietly marched off south through the sage brush. It was mid-forenoon of the fourth day before I got back from Laramie City with a new outfit of men. Tex and Sam were drawn and heavy -eyed from their long vigil, but not a hoof was missing from the 1,506 left in their custody! It was a remarkable feat for two men, and one that would have been impossible pt with a well-broke trail herd ranging on gen- erous feed in a country entirely free of other cattle. Branding soon finished and a few spare days al- lowed for resting the horses, a fortnight later we swung the herd north up Duck Creek Valley to the head of "Collin's Cut Off," the shortest route through the main range from Fort Laramie to Medi- cine Bow, a mere pack trail of old fur-trading days, thai neither before or since, to the best of my belief, [101] REMINISCENCES OF A RANCHMAN ever had a herd taken through it, following a gorge so narrow, heavily timbered, and at times so precip- itous as to be almost impassable to anything but a Rocky Mountain goat. But time was pressing. Snow was already due, snow that would seal all the passes and leave us to winter on the bleak Laramie Plains. So into it we plunged, and at last, after many mishaps and no inconsiderable loss, out of it we came — drifted down the Sabille to the Laramie, and then across to the Platte, which we crossed in a heavy snow-storm the very last day be- fore ice formed so heavily in the river that later crossing became impossible. With the snow come, we had to winter where we were. A sheltered nook on Cottonwood Creek, twelve miles west of Fort Laramie, I chose for our winter camp, and tight, warm diggings were soon finished; literally " diggings," for the house was a hole eigh- teen feet square dug in the side of the bank, set round with cottonwood poles, standing on end close to- gether, the crevices chinked with mud, and roofed with like poles covered with grass and earth, a rude stone fireplace and chimney at the back. The one extravagance about the house was the door. Lacking lumber, the door remained for some [102] A COWBOY MUTINY time an unsolved problem — until one day my top cut- ting horse fell under Cress and broke a leg, leaving no alternative but to shoot him. And then a sound economic thought occurred to the resourceful Sam — he skinned the top cutter, stretched the green hide cleverly on a pole frame, hung the frame on rawhide hinges, and lo ! we had a door — loose, to be sure, of latch and wide of crevice, but still a door, a seventy-five dollar door on a ten dollar house ! The outfit comfortably settled, Cress and I mounted and rode away south for Cheyenne, he for a visit to his Texas home and friends, I for a short business trip to New York. Reaching Cheyenne early in the forenoon of the third day from the ranch, we were not in town an hour before Cress came to me with the cheerful news that Mack Lambert was in town drunk, had heard of my arrival, and was hunting me with a gun, swearing to kill me on sight. Mack sober I had learned not to fear, except from ambush. Mack drunk, however, was certain to be a deadly, dangerous proposition ; and thus it happened that I can now recall that particular forenoon as rather the most uncertain and uncomfortable I ever experienced. [103] REMINISCENCES OF A RANCHMAN I had many errands I could not neglect that took me all about the town, and it was just good luck and nothing else that we did not meet. And when at 1 : 30 p.m. I rolled out of the station bound eastward, com- fortably settled on Pullman plush, and felt new miles rapidly stacking up between Mack and myself, I, for a time, settled down to serious study whether the game was worth the candle, and, after mature reflec- tion, decided it was. A month later, mid-December, found me back in Wyoming, jogging alone northward on the Laramie road. Late the second afternoon out from Cheyenne, be- tween Chugwater and Eagle's Nest, ahead of me I saw a heavily laden ranch supply wagon, its four yoke of work cattle struggling painfully through the deep sand, in frequent sudden lurching spurts caused by the wicked lash of their needlessly cruel driver, who trudged afoot alongside the nigh wheeler. And as I approached the team, whom should I recognise in the bull whacker but Mack Lambert — evidently stranded for a saddle-seat by too late a spree in town and forced to take orders as a bull whacker, a situation sure to have him in willing tem- per for any war play that offered ! Dodge I should have been glad to, but I did not [104] A COWBOY MUTINY dare dodge ; felt I could not afford it. Here I had all the advantage of a complete surprise ; any day later the chance of a surprise might be his. After his war talk in Cheyenne I should have been perfectly justified in shooting him down without warning — and from the viewpoint of my own future peace of mind it was a great temptation. He or his kind would do no less ; why not I ? But that was a trifle too large an order in cow range ethics, and so I smothered the thought and decided to tackle him. We were alone ; no one in sight ahead or behind. The groans of overloaded axles and the shrill creak of straining yoke-bows covered all sounds of my own approach through the heavy sand of the road until I was opposite the hind wheels of his wagon: Then, as I saw him note a strange sound and begin to turn, I spurred forward, and in a bound of my horse was immediately upon him and drew rein. For a few seconds we glared at each other. Then he growled : " Well, by , it's you, is it? " "Yes, Mack, it's just me," I replied. "And I've something to say to you. I've heard that a month ago you were hunting me in Cheyenne, vowing to kill me on sight. Now if you have anything against me, [105] REMINISCENCES OF A RANCHMAN here's as fine a chance as you could ask to settle it. You have your belt and gun on and I mine, nobody's holding you, and we're alone. Bat an eye or make a move, and it will be the quickest man for a scalp." His eye wavered a bit, and I knew I had him on the run. Then presently he grumbled : " Say, 01' Man Kid, mine was jest no thin* but whiskey talk down t' Cheyenne. She don't go, see? Yu shore handed me anything but prittys over on th' Laramie, but I reckon I got no more 'n was a comin' t' me for undersizin' y'ur play. Reckon 'fore I tackle another tende'foot kid I'll set up long 'nough nights t' larn whether his system is fullest o' deuces or aces ! " " Quite sure you've no kick, Mack ? " I queried. " None but that little lovin' one yu give me on th' Laramie, 'n' I allow I was due for it," he half-grinned. " Well, so long then, Mack," I said, and trotted slowly ahead, half-turned in my saddle to make sure he did not change his mind. [106] CHAPTER SIX WINTERING AMONG RUSTLERS I RETURNED to my winter camp on Cotton- wood in a fierce mid-December blizzard, the first of the season, the temperature so low that little snow was falling, but the wind so high that it lifted and filled the air with what seemed almost solid masses of the last fall, that, driving horizontally before a thirty or forty mile wind, made it nearly impossible for man and horse to face it. But my mount, " Alizan," a stout-hearted, heavy- muscled sorrel half-breed, struggled bravely against the bitter blasts sweeping the ridges and wallowed stubbornly through the drifts filling the hollows, and finally, more by his own instinct than my guidance, brought me safely to the ranch door a little after sundown. And lucky it was we came up squarely in front of the eighteen-foot dugout, for little enough of it showed above the all-mantling snow ; a narrow ribbon of light outlined the loosely set door; a grayish [107] REMINISCENCES OF A RANCHMAN column of smoke, faintly gold-tinted by its mother flames, rose from the great chimney and swept swiftly away southeast into the night — that was all. Howl and bluster as it might without, within all was good cheer and rude comfort. Big, dry juniper logs were roaring with joy of the light and warmth they were bringing us; in a corner of the fireplace a kettle of dried apples stewed and quietly simmered, cuddled contentedly alongside a coffee pot, whose contents bubbled riotously in pride of its amber strength; across the fire a pot-bellied Dutch oven and its glowing crest of live coals in char- acteristic stolid silence wrought out its task of pro- ducing us a crisp brown loaf; no little annoyed, doubtless, by the half score slices of fat bacon siz- zling and sputtering angrily near by. The dugout I found transformed. I had left it a month before empty of all furniture, the mud chink- ing on the walls scarce dry. During my absence the boys had furnished it — not sumptuously, to be sure, but fully and comfortably. A table and stools the axes had served to produce out of poles and hewn slabs; four stout bedstead frames had been built against the walls, two to right and two to left of the door, and a rawhide slung by its four corners to each of the bedstead frames made [108] WINTERING AMONG RUSTLERS a mattress not entirely devoid of flexibility ; three or four tomato can cases nailed to the wall served as pantry ; wooden hooks above each bunk held the rifles and belts ; the space beneath the bunks served as store- room and was packed with spare supplies; a bunch of willow twigs bound tightly about an end of a pole made a tolerable broom, and the tawny skin of a big mountain lion (prey to Tex's rifle) lay as a rug be- fore the bunk held inviolate for me. And roughly fashioned, with no tools other than axe and saw, made without scrap of lumber, iron or glass as were the dugout and its fittings, proud as Lucifer was I of this the first house I ever owned, and happy in it as in any more pretentious that since has sheltered me. Tex I found well but worried — badly worried. " Pow'f ul glad V see yu back, OP Man ; done needed yu fo' a week," he greeted. "What's the trouble, Tex?" I asked; "Indians been in on you? n u Nop, nary Injun ; no* sign." " Any rustlers out brand burning? " "Nop!" " Lost any horses? * "Nop!" " Coyote chewed up your pet rawhide rfata? " [109] REMINISCENCES OF A RANCHMAN "Nop!" " ' Balaam ' " (a little Spanish mule and Tex's fa- vourite mount for range riding) " gone lame? " "Nop!" " Well, then, whatever is the trouble, Tex? " " Hell's own plenty o' trouble ; that thar OP Man Mack on Muskrat Creek's plumb crazy, 'n' unsafe t' be loose 'mong whites ; shore t' do some o' us up or butt his fool haid off agin a rock; ought t' be es- corted back t' his folks 'n' took care of." Mack & Peers were our nearest neighbours, small ranchmen living eighteen miles away, whose acquain- tance I had made shortly before going East in No- vember. Peers was a fine type of Pike County Missourian, a keen, alert, capable, all-round frontiersman and cowman. Mack was a man of education and polish, plainly well bred, past fifty, carefully grammatical of speech as well as one could judge from the little he said, for he was quiet and reserved to the point of downright taciturnity — a sad-faced, gentle man who tended the ranch while his partner Peers rode the range, evi- dently nursing memories of some grief or trouble from which he there sought exile amid rude surround- ings in which he always remained a pathetic misfit. [110] WINTERING AMONG RUSTLERS Thus it was with the greatest surprise I que- ried: " Whatever is the matter with Mr. Mack, Tex? " " Jest adzactly what I tells yu — crazy as a locoed steer." " So? Has he been making any war plays? " " Nix ; not yet ; but he's shore to — that's what- ever. Ain't at hisself at all." " How do you know ? How did you find it out, Tex?" " Wall, it's thisaway. 'Bout a week ago, while me 'n' ' Balaam ' was out sign ridin', we struck a bunch o' strays strung out for Muskrat, V it come night 'fore we got 'em headed and swung back toward \kt home range. "It was so late, I 'lowed me V th* mule would see if we could git t' stay all night at Mack & Peers's camp. So up I rides V hollers, V gits down. " Hearin' me holler, out come ol' Mack hisself, V right off he axes me t* onsaddle 'n' put th' mule in th* shed ; which-all suited ■ Balaam ' V me special, for a nor'easter was blowin' we'd a had to go quarterin' *gin t' git home that thar was no sorta show t' git overhet in. " When I got in th' cabin, thar was ol' Mack put- terin' 'bout th' fireplace, cookin' supper. He give [in] REMINISCENCES OF A RANCHMAN me a stool in th' chimley corner, V then tol' me Peers had went t' th' Fort for th' mail, 'n' 'lowed t' stay thar all night — wanted t' tank up a few on red eye, I reckon, at Bullock's store. " 'N' that was jest nachally all th' news I got out o' 01' Man Mack th' hull night — never said another dod-blamed word but ' yes ' 'n' * no ' until th' next mornin', when, by strainin' his system horrible, he did git t' give up a ' good-bye ' when I rode off. " She was a hell o' a unsociable evenin', yu can bet y'ur alee on that. " Feelin' as vis'tur it was up t' me t' be entertainin', I tried t' talk, by making remarks 'bout th' weather, V Injuns, V rustlers, 'n' how th' Platte was froze so nigh solid, 'n' snow layin' so thick, thar was mighty little fo' stock t' eat o' drink, makin' 'em shore t' come out pore 'n' weak in th' spring. " But fo' all the response it fetched out o' him, I might as well a been talkin' t' a bunch o' remains. " His listeners 'peared t' be workin' all right, fo' sometimes he'd loosen up t' th' extent o' a * yes ' o' 1 nop,' but that was all. " 'N' yet he was mighty kind like — give me tobacco 'n' papers, 'n' books t' look at. Books! He was sar- tenly hell on books — had th' dod-burned little ol' cabin full o' them, 'nough t' run all the deestrict [112] WINTERING AMONG RUSTLERS schools in th' hull state o' Texas. Books ! He had long ones 'n' short ones, fat ones V thin ones, some in leather scabbards V some jest wrapt in paper, lots o' them with pictures o' more d n queer things I never heerd of than I could tell yu 'bout in a year. Books! Why, honest, I reckon that ol' feller 's got more books than anybody else in the world, V has got so used t' gittin' all his back talk outen them that it's jest got t' be onhandy fo* him t' use his tongue wi' humans. " Wall, finally he gits supper ready, V we eats. 'N' she was a shore pea-warmer o' a supper, good as women-folks's cookin' ; raised hot bread 'n' a puddin' that 'd make a puncher jest nachally want t* marry V lire wi' th' cook that made it. " After supper I smokes 'n' smokes, while he plumb loses his ol' self in a book. " Finally, come bed-time, he give me a nice bunk, 'n' I pulls off my coat, hat, spurs V boots, 'n' gits intu th' blankets. " Then what 'n hell does yu allow that ol' feller did? You'd never guess in a thousand year! 'For* that I thought he was jest queer o' his ways, but when he did that, I made so sure he was plumb dangerous crazy it scairt me so bad I never shet an eye th' hull night long." [118] REMINISCENCES OF A RANCHMAN " Nonsense, Tex," I interrupted, " Mack isn't crazy." " Crazy i " he resumed, " it's me tellin' yu he's crazy as a d d bedbug, 'n' I got th' goods t' prove it ; fo' right thar in th' cabin, befo' me, he pulls off every last stitch o' clothes he had on, V then he up V puts on his 6V carcass a great long white woman's dress reachm 9 plumb down t 9 his feet, V goes t y bed in it! Yes, sir, that's jest what he did ; I'll swear t' it; 'n' I reckon now yu-all '11 admit he's crazy ! " Dear old brush-bred Tex had never even heard of such a thing as a nightgown, and I never was quite sure I succeeded in fully convincing him that no in- considerable part of humanity always so habited themselves for their nightly repose! Certain it was that he never got it out of his head that Mack was an unsafe intellectual freak. The next day I dropped into ranch routine. Our most important work was daily range riding, to throw back into the range any cattle straying from it, and to make sure no depredations by Indians or rustlers were going on. Our position was unusually exposed. At the time throughout its long sweep southeast from the Sweet- water in Central Wyoming to Blue Creek in Nebras- [114] WINTERING AMONG RUSTLERS ka, there were only three herds north of the North Platte River — Mack & Peers's outfit on Muskrat, Pratt & Ferris twenty-five miles east of me on Raw- hide, and mine on Cottonwood, all of us moved in that same season. To the north two hundred and thirty miles lay the then new mining camp of Deadwood, in the heart of the Black Hills, with no intervening habitation of white men save the stock- tenders' cabins, twelve to eighteen miles apart, on the main stage road from Cheyenne. In those days in isolated Deadwood money was often five per cent a month, flour one hundred dollars a sack, and beef anything its possessor had nerve enough to ask for it. Thus our exposed herds were a great temptation to the lawless. Within a week after my return we discovered our " Three Crow ■ brand ( ~> *\) had been spotted for an easy mark, chiefly, I suppose, as the property of a tenderfoot. First we discovered several head of cattle show- ing brand disfigurement, the first two " crows " made into " B's," and the third into an " 8," thus (gg