CHAPTER XV.
"RANGE-RIDING."
"Hello, kid! Who you lookin' for?" The voice was deep and full and had acheerful, confident ring in it.
John looked up quickly and saw standing in the narrow doorway a man whomhe rightly guessed to be Barney Madden. He was a man over thirty, ofmedium height, rather slight, wiry build, showing good, hardcondition; his face, decorated with a brown mustache, was a goodone--determination, courage, and an abundant sense of humor could beseen there. He had deep-set, blue-gray eyes, which could be both sternand merry.
"I'm looking for you, I guess," the youngster answered, after a moment'spause, "if you're Barney Madden. My name's Worth, John Worth, and Mr.Baker sent me out here to help you range-ridin'."
"Sure, I'm Barney Madden. I'm plumb glad to see yer; you look like agood, husky kid, and will help me a lot, I hope. Put your horse in thedug-out yonder, then come back and help me get supper," and he pointedto a little, cave-like house built to shelter the horses of therange-riders in winter.
Soon the sorrel was contentedly munching hay in the warm stables withthree or four other horses.
Returning to the shack, John found Barney on his knees blowing the firevigorously.
"Well, kid, you'd better go down to the creek for some water." Barneyspoke in a disjointed fashion, between puffs. "Can you cook?"
The youngster said he could a little.
"Well, suppose you try on this supper. I ain't no cook, never was; don'tlike it. If you'll take care of the eatin' outfit I'll be satisfied allright."
The supper over, Madden expressed his complete satisfaction, and so Johnwas installed chief cook and head (also foot) of the commissarydepartment.
The following morning his work as a cow-puncher began. At mining,sheep-ranching, and horse and mule herding he had served a fullapprenticeship, and he now became a full-fledged cowboy. Each of hisprevious occupations had helped to fit him for the present undertaking.Almost from his babyhood he could ride, and about the same time helearned to "throw the rope," as the act of casting the lariat is called,and by constant practice had grown more and more proficient.
The duties of the range-rider, as he soon learned, were to cover acertain territory (which in this case was that section which lay betweenSaffron and Buffalo creeks) to see that the different bunches of cattledid not get into trouble, or, in case they did get into difficulties, torescue them. Each morning the two rose with the sun, and after a verysimple toilet--to put on a hat and a pair of spurs sufficed sometimes--abreakfast of bacon, bread, and coffee was dispatched. Saddling theirmounts was the next thing in order, and each day the horse that had beenidle the day before was selected. This operation is easier to describethan to accomplish, for, as a rule, the cow pony has a strong dislikefor the clinging saddle, and especially for the hind cinch--itinterferes with his free breathing and grips him at a tender spot. Whenthe horse has been led out and the fifty-pound (or more) saddle isthrown over his back, the fun begins; he prances around as if on hotiron, and a keen eye and quick foot are needed to keep out of reach ofhoofs or teeth; at length, during an unguarded second, the flappingcinch is captured and brought under his belly in the twinkling of aneye; the strap on the other side is rove through the ring, and with aquick pull tightened; but the pony, who has been expecting this, takes adeep breath, and at the same time humps his back. If the rider isinexperienced and secures the strap when the pony is thus puffed up hewill come to grief when he tries to mount, the saddle promptly slippinground as soon as he puts his weight on the stirrup, and the knowinghorse empties his lungs and straightens his back. John was up to allsuch tricks, and when "Roany" (the sorrel's companion and the sparehorse allotted to the young rider) blew himself up, he simply put hisfoot up against the pony's side and gave a tremendous and sudden heave.It is a rather inconsiderate and humiliating method--for the horse.Roany grunted protestingly; immediately his girth was reduced severalinches and John made the cinch fast.
The horses saddled, the two riders went in opposite directions, visitingthe well-known haunt of each bunch of cattle in the section of countrycommitted to their care. In pleasant weather, when the feed was good andwater plenty, this was by no means an irksome duty. The horse is freshand full of life; the rider, exhilarated by the bracing air and swiftmotion, shouts aloud from pure joy at being alive. The day's circuitcompleted, he comes back to the shack, somewhat tired, but the possessorof an appetite that would make a dyspeptic toiler in a city office stillpaler with envy.
A LITTLE BOX OF A CABIN IT WAS. (_Page 243._)]
But John began range-riding during the hardest season of the year, whenkeen, searching winds had to be faced, blizzards encountered, and workof the hardest, most depressing kind had to be done.
"By gum! this beats all," said Barney one morning, some months afterJohn joined him. He got out of his bunk, and, walking over to the singlewindow, looked out. "Snowin' yet. Here this thing's been goin' on ferten days steady; grass all covered up, cattle near done, and horses wornout--and it's snowin' yet! Seem's if Providence was down on us," andBarney proceeded with his morning toilet, pulling on his boots andgrumbling under his breath.
John had something of the same idea in his mind; he began to think allthis terrible weather was punishment meted out to him for running awayfrom home. For two weeks the two riders had been in the saddle fourteenhours a day, and the strain was beginning to tell on both men andbeasts. This was the terrible winter of 1886-87, when many cattlemenwere almost ruined.
"Come, kid; get a move on," said Barney rather wearily. "It's tough, butit's got to be done."
They tramped out into the blinding flurry of flakes and routed out theirunwilling horses. There was no frisking, and no tricks to avoidsaddling; the poor beasts stood resignedly and allowed their masters toput them into their bonds without a protest.
"So long," shouted John.
"S'long," returned the other.
And so they separated. John followed the frozen Saffron Creek. It waslined with brush which afforded some shelter for the half-starved cattlethat were collected in compact bunches at different points for the sakeof warmth. Six hundred head of cattle were thus scattered along the twocreeks. Each of these John visited, and with shouts and blows urged themfrom the cover where otherwise they would stay--dazed, stupid, graduallygrowing weaker till they died in their tracks. Once in the open, theymoved more briskly, butting and crowding each other till their blood gotcirculating again, and they took some interest in searching for thescanty grass revealed by their trampling hoofs.
This morning, after riding a half mile or so from the shack, John cameupon a bunch of stock. He shouted at them and slapped those nearest withhis hat; soon all were moving towards the open. All went well till a bigsnow bank was encountered; this the shivering cattle, weakened byhunger, refused to tackle, so John drove his horse into the white bank,and by floundering through two or three times a trail was made. Stillthe stock refused to go through; but at last, with much urging andpushing by Roany, breast to rump, three were forced to the other sideand the others reluctantly followed. One old cow still remained, weak,wavering, her last calf sapping her vitality; back went John and Roany;the rope was uncoiled and the noose dropped over her horns. A couple ofturns having been taken round the saddle horn, Roany scratched andtugged, the old cow struggled a bit, and in a jiffy the brave littlehorse "snaked" her through.
A little further on the same thing was done with another bunch.
From time to time, as he rode along, John saw queer mounds partly orwholly covered with snow: they were the cattle that had succumbed. Manymore then living he knew would give up, try as he might and did toprotect them.
Further on he noted a fresh victim, and as he drew near two gray,slinking forms left it.
"Hold on, Roany; we'll have to get a shot at those," and suiting theaction to the word he pulled his steed up and drew his six-shooter. Thewolves were moving off slowly, licking their bloody chops and snarlingat the interruption of their feast, their head
s turned back toward theboy, their teeth showing, their yellow eyes gleaming. _Crack_ wentJohn's pistol, and one fell over kicking. The other bolted for cover.
_Crack_, _crack_, the shots rang out, and he too dropped. In a minuteboth wolves were skinned by making a cut along each leg and down thebelly, and then with a strong pull yanking the pelt off. The legs weretied together and both skins hung over the branch of a nearby tree, thelocation being carefully noted. Then the boy rode on his melancholytask.
As the daylight began to wane, the effect of the hard day's work wasfelt by both horse and rider, and John looked forward to the time, buta couple of hours off now, when he would return to the warm shack andsatisfy his already ravenous hunger. They were still many miles fromshelter, and he knew that travelling must be difficult, if notdangerous.
"Come, Roany, old boy, brace up!" he called cheerily to his faggedmount, giving him a friendly pat on the neck at the same time. "We'vegot to get home." And he touched him lightly with his quirt. The goodhorse responded bravely and floundered through the deep snow, emergingon a bare, wind-swept spot where he could make much better time. Thepace was so good that John could almost feel in imagination the warmglow of the fire and smell the fragrance of frying bacon.
As they went on their way they reached a steep little hill, the sides ofwhich were covered deep with snow; down this they plunged withever-increasing speed. Suddenly Roany stopped, stopped so short, indeed,that John was thrown over his head into a bank of snow. As soon as mightbe he picked himself up, dug the snow out of his eyes, ears, and mouth,and looked to see what the trouble was. Roany was struggling violently.John soon found that he had stepped into a deep badger hole, the sidesand top of which, frozen hard, were unyielding, and held the poorbeast's leg like a vise, twisting and breaking the joint badly. The boysaw at once that Roany would have to be killed; that there was no helpfor him. It would be a mercy to put him out of his misery, for he couldfeel him quivering, and his eyes bulged out with pain. It was ahazardous position for himself, but for the moment he forgot it in hisdistress for his horse.
"Roany, old boy, I've got to kill you," he said, feeling that he mustjustify his act--really one of mercy. "You'll freeze to death if Idon't."
He drew his six-shooter from the holster, put the muzzle against thehorse's forehead, then, turning his face away, pulled the trigger. A fewconvulsive struggles and Roany's sufferings were over.
John loosened the cinch, and with considerable difficulty pulled thesaddle from under and hung it to a nearby poplar; the bridle was treatedlikewise; then he stood up and looked around him, wondering what heshould do next.
It was no time for sentiment, so he gave his whole thought to the bestway of reaching the shack. He was already tired and hungry; the wind wasblowing the still falling snow so that it was blinding, and there wereseven miles of rough country to cover before shelter could be reached.John set his teeth, and, after giving a final glance at his faithfulhorse, he set out. This time, fortunately, he had but himself to thinkof and look out for, and if he could cover the distance before freezingall would be well. He struck off to the right, and, after flounderingthrough drifts, sliding down steep places, and fighting the biting blastin the open, he came to the creek that ran past the shack: he had but tofollow it. Hour after hour he toiled along, his body bathed with sweat,his hands, feet, and face icy cold. The snow blown in his eyes blindedhim, hidden obstructions tripped him, and hunger took away his strength.Late that night he stumbled through the door of the shack into thewarmth and light.
Barney was wide awake and watching.
"By God! I'm glad you're in," he said, grabbing him by the arm anddragging him forward; then, as the lamp-light shone on him clearly, heturned him round and pushed him out again.
"Your face is white: it's frozen. Get snow on it, quick."
John thought he had had enough snow on him that day--face and all--tolast him the rest of his life, but he submitted to the rough rubbingthat Barney gave him without a word, and soon the chalky look gave wayto the glow of red blood circulating freely.
He was thoroughly exhausted, but the food and fire prepared by hispartner revived him somewhat, and he turned into his rough, hard bunkand slept like a hibernating bear.
When the sun came out bright and warm and the snow began to melt, thehavoc wrought by the storm became manifest. Only the strongest cattleremained alive, and of these most were males. The survivors were weakand their bones almost punctured their worn-looking skins. In the moresheltered spots lay many once sturdy cows and heifers that later becamea heap of whitened bones. Though the thaw revealed all these horrors, italso uncovered the herbage, and little by little the remaining animalsbegan to gain strength and weight.
Now the range-riders were kept busy pulling the foolish ones out of bigholes. Each day the various bunches of cattle were visited, and withdiscouraging frequency some of them would be found mired helplessly,weakened by their long fast and rendered crazy by fright; theirstruggles to get out of the sticky mud only sunk them more deeply. Itnow became the cowboy's duty to throw his rope over the mired beast'shorns, make the other end fast to the saddle horn, then to urge thesturdy little cow-pony forward with whip and spur. The pony tugs, thecow struggles, and soon she is standing on _terra firma_, exhausted,indeed, but safe. This is hard work for the pony and its rider, to saynothing of the cause of all the trouble--which is looked upon merely asso much beef to be saved.
With steady spring weather came the opportunity to visit the home ranch,and John was glad enough to take advantage of it. It was a long timesince he had seen Frank, and, of course, there was much to talk of. Itwas Sunday, in the forenoon, and work, for the time being, was slack.Eight or ten cow-punchers were at the ranch and were amusing themselveswith a little buckskin-colored horse. His viciousness had earned him thetitle of "Outlaw"--that is, he was considered unbreakable.
He was in the corral, small of stature, and, to the uninitiated,innocent enough in appearance; but for all that he had just bucked offGreaser Tony, as good a rider as one could find in a long day's journey.
The cow-punchers sat on the fence and egged each other on to tackle theunconquerable little beast; such an exhibition was great sport to thelooker-on, but of doubtful pleasure to the participant.
"Try him, Billy Iron-legs," said one. "You can stick him."
"Try him yourself," responded Iron-legs. "You're lookin' for fun, andthat breakfast you put away needs a little shakin' up."
"How'd the earth look from the bird's-eye view you got of it, Tony?"said Frank to Greaser Tony, who was off in a corner counting his bruisesand swearing softly.
"Here, Shorty, you ride him; you're always lookin' for somethin'lively."
Shorty's inclination to kick about his mount was well known; he had away of calling whatever horse was set apart for him to ride "old cow" or"kitten." The proposition to put him on the "Outlaw" and tie him therewas hailed with delight, but he dropped from his place on the fence andvanished before any one could lay hands on him. At this juncture Frankcame to where John sat, and pointing to one of the men said, "That's thehorse-range boss. I advise you to ride that little buckskin yourself;'twon't do you any harm and they'll think a lot of you."
Any of these men could ride the horse, but it is never pleasant to ridea bucking broncho, and it is sometimes dangerous.
John accepted his friend's advice, and when Frank shouted, "Here's achap that'll ride the cayuse," he jumped over the fence into the corraland went up to the outlaw. He was already saddled and a hackamore wastwisted round his nose. John thought he knew horses pretty well, for hislong intimacy with Baldy gave him the inside track of equine character.The little buckskin's unbroken spirit and courage pleased him and hefelt friendly. The little fellow had been abused; his sides were cut andbarred by quirting, his head and nose were skinned by rough ropes instill rougher hands.
All men were his enemies, and at John's approach he struck out with hisfore feet, but the boy avoided them and caught the hackamore close up
tothe head. He put his left foot in the stirrup. The horse's eye was uponhim, but though the pony was quick he was quicker, and was in the saddleand had caught the right stirrup before the first jump was finished.
Round one in favor of the boy, and the on-lookers said "Good!"
Then began some of the "tallest" stiff-legged bucking ever seen in thatcorral. Head between his legs, back humped, squealing shrilly, thelittle horse shot up in the air and came down stiff-legged with a jarthat made the ground tremble. Every trick known to the cunning breed wastried--jumping sideways, twisting in the air, plunging, rearing frontand back--all in vain. John stuck like a leech till the "Outlaw" tiredhimself out. He lasted for fifteen minutes with scarcely a pause. Thenwith head drooping, nostrils turned out till the red showed, literallydrenched with sweat, he stood quiet, his body exhausted but his spiritunconquered.
John dismounted and pulled off the saddle, patted the little horse'sneck, and turned him loose.
It was a pretty exhibition of horsemanship, and the spectatorsappreciated it. It was done fairly, there was no "pulling leather"(holding on) or "hobbling stirrups" (tying them underneath the horse--agreat assistance).
A number of the punchers expressed their approbation. "Good work, kid.""That's all right, pardner," said they. The boss said nothing, but aweek or two later John got orders to come down to the ranch and bringhis bed.
Cattle-Ranch to College Page 17