CHAPTER X
THE FENCELESS LAND
The next day Jack was ordered to travel with the herd in company withJack Mason and Rube. Mason was a man who had not been long in thispart of the country. He was not a pilgrim, for he had been born amongthe mountains of the West, and had spent all his life in the fencelesscountry. As a very young man he had worked his way up to the north, andfor several years had lived on or near the Blackfeet Reservation, andHugh knew him well. When he found him in the round-up camp Hugh hadspoken of him to Jack in high terms.
"He's harum-scarum," he had said, "but he's a good prairie man, and Idon't think he's afraid of anything that wears hair or feathers. Hedoes not always believe in obeying laws that he does not approve of,and I've heard he has been in trouble once or twice on that account;but he's a square man, and a man that it's safe for you to know, andto tie to under ordinary conditions. Sometimes, however, he goes offhalf-cocked, and when he does that I shouldn't want you to tie to him.He's a man that's growing better every day, but he needs experience andbalance, and I don't believe there's any way for Jack Mason to getthat, except by living in the world and finding out for himself a wholelot of things that he don't know yet.
"There's another thing about Mason," Hugh went on; "he's terriblestout, quick with his hands, and quite a wrestler. I mind the only timeI ever saw him wrestle. The fellow that tackled him got a handful. Itwas at the Blackfeet Agency. A big husky chap came over from Canadaand went around blowing about how good he could wrestle. He threw theblacksmith, who was pretty stout, and a big Indian that was persuadedto try him, and after he had done that he talked louder than ever. Hewas an Englishman that had been in the mounted police. Finally somebodywho had seen Mason in a scuffle told the man that he couldn't throwMason, and the Englishman wanted to bet he could, and at last got allworked up about it. Mason kept refusing and dodging and putting off,until the Englishman was about crazy to make a match, and at last Masonsaid he would go him. They put up five dollars a side to wrestle on theflat out in front of the stockade. When they got hold of each other,the Englishman started in to throw Mason quick, but however hard hetried, he didn't seem to stir him out of his tracks. But suddenly,while they were all watching and wondering what was going to happen,Mason give a kind of a twist and threw the Englishman over his head,and he lit on his back three or four steps away, with the wind allknocked out of him. It took five or ten minutes to bring him to, andthen he was only just able to walk, and had to be helped back into thestockade. He didn't talk much about wrestling after that, and left inthe course of two or three days.
"You notice Mason sometime when he's in swimming and see his arms andshoulders, and the pins he's got under him. He's stout, I tell you."
Mason was a good cow hand and a most cheery, delightful fellow. Nomatter how gloomy the situation, how hard the rain poured or the coldwind blew, he whistled and sang in hearty fashion, made jokes andlaughed at those of others, and altogether got out of life a great dealof enjoyment.
Those who were to drive the herd went out early to relieve the nightherders. They were in no haste to start the cattle, which were givensome time to feed before being pushed along to the next camp. Whilethe cattle were feeding they needed no special attention for they werenot likely to try to wander until they had eaten their fill. So thethree herders got together on a knoll from which a good view of thecountry could be had, and sat there watching the stock as it fed. Rubewhittled tobacco, and time and again filled his old black pipe; but thetwo Jacks, being non-smokers, looked over the wide plain before them,and noted, as one may note if one sits down and stares at a landscape,the various things that were happening among the wild dwellers of thatlandscape.
Scarcely half a mile to the north was an old doe antelope which inthe early morning light had seemed much interested in the cattle andtrotted down toward them on a tour of inspection. Those who saw herfelt pretty sure that hidden somewhere in the neighborhood she hada couple of little kids; and sure enough after the old mother hadsatisfied herself that there was no danger in those great groups ofdark animals, her two tiny young ones came out from their hiding-placeand played around her.
Along a distant hillside off to the south, Jack Mason's keen eyedetected a moving object, and after watching it for a while he turnedto Jack.
"There goes a wolf, traveling back after his night's hunting to find aplace to lie by during the day," he said.
After it had been pointed out, they could see the great beast trottingsmoothly along over the prairie toward some bushy ravines higher up onthe hill.
"Except for the cattle and the wild animals," Mason said, "there's notmuch to be seen here."
"Not much," answered Jack. "It's lonely; but I like the verylonesomeness of it."
"Yes," responded Mason; "so do I. I don't know anything much betterthan to ride along over the prairie, or to sit alone on top of thehill and just see what goes on all about you. Most people wouldn't seeanything, but the man that has got his eyes open sees a whole lot."
"Ho!" put in Rube, "you fellows talk as if you had never before beenwhere it was lonely. I have; and there's too much loneliness out herefor me. I'm getting to be like the fellow I heard of who was ridingfence down in Texas on one of those big fenced ranches. He never sawanybody from week-end to week-end, and one time when he came into aranch to get his supplies, he said it was so darned lonely out therethat he'd got into the habit of taking off his hat and saying 'Howdy'to every fence post that he passed."
"Well," laughed Mason, "he must have suffered for lack of company; butI would never have that complaint."
"Hugh tells me that you've lived up in the Piegan country," said Jack,addressing Mason. "Were you up there long?"
"Three or four years. I expect I'll go back there before long. Six oreight years ago I drifted up from the south through this country, andfinally brought up among the Piegans. I've been across the line a fewtimes to the British, and have stopped a little while with the Bloodsand the north Piegans. You know that in old times, when the firsttreaties were made, the Piegans split up on the question of where theyshould live. Some of them liked the country to the south of the line,and some that to the north. Originally all the three tribes of theBlackfeet came from way up north on the Red Deer River, or maybe stillfarther, to the east of that. I've heard old John Monroe--maybe youknow him--"
"I should say so!" exclaimed Jack. "I lived in his lodge all onesummer."
"Well," continued Mason, "I've heard old John Monroe tell a mighty goodstory about the way the Blackfeet came down from the northeast, and howthey first met the white people."
Here Rube interrupted.
"I think we had better start these cows along. A lot of 'em have quitfeeding and the first thing we know they'll be lying down, and thenwe'll have a hard time to get them to move. Better come on and start'em now. The longer we put it off the harder work and slower it'll be."
"That's gospel," said Jack Mason. "We've got to whoop these cows up,and we haven't any time for writing ancient history now."
"Yes," agreed Jack, "I suppose we've got to move; but look here, Mason,I want to get you to tell me that story, if you will. I've an ideathat I've heard bits of it up North, but if you can give it to me in aconnected fashion I wish you would."
"Why sure," Mason answered. "I'd like to tell it to you the best Ican; but you know very well that I can't tell it the way old JohnMonroe could. He's half Indian and that means that he's a natural signtalker; and then he's got a dash of French in him, that makes himwilling to talk, and he talks well; and then I expect the Scotch--forold Hugh Monroe's father must have been Scotch, if the name countsfor anything--gives him a sense of humor. So he's a rattling goodstory-teller. Of course, for me, and maybe for you, he's sometimesa little hard to understand, because he talks a language made up ofEnglish, French, Cree and Blackfeet. Sometimes I miss the connection,but his stories are always good. The best ones that I ever heard,though, were those that he
told in Cree to Billy Jackson, and thatBilly Jackson interpreted for me, for Jackson is no slouch of astory-teller himself."
As they talked, the men rode over toward the cattle and going aboutthem started those that were lying down and at last got the whole bunchmoving very slowly in the direction they wished them to go. Amongthe cattle were three or four partially crippled animals that hadbeen lamed either by the horns of other cows in the crowding, or byfalling in bad places. Most of the hurts were trifling and would soonpass away, but there was one two-year-old steer that had a very badshoulder and could use only one foreleg. He could get along very slowlyand with difficulty. As Rube and Jack passed each other, riding to andfro to keep the stock going, Rube pointed to the steer.
"I hate to drive that cripple," he said; "and I'd leave him in a minuteif I wasn't afraid that the wolves or coyotes would kill him to-night."
"Yes," answered Jack; "I am afraid if he were left behind he wouldnever see the morning light; even a bunch of coyotes could kill himwithout any trouble, for just as soon as they crippled his hind legs,he would fall over and they would eat him alive."
"I reckon," decided Rube, "the best that we can do is to keep himgoing, and if we get him into camp to-night, we'll let McIntyre saywhat shall be done with him."
About noon the boys came to a stream and, driving the cattle down toit, made up their minds that they would give them an hour or two ofrest. When Mason came up, Jack spoke to him about the crippled steerand asked what he thought about it, repeating what he and Rube had saida little while before.
"You're right about that," said Mason. "I don't believe he'd last outthe night; for, as you say, the coyotes would kill him. If he werewell, he could stand off a bunch of coyotes, but as he is, he wouldn'tlast long. You talk about crippling up his hind legs. Do you savvy,Jack, how it is that a buffalo or a steer, or a cow, gets hamstrung?"
"I always supposed that a wolf just bit through that big tendon thatruns down from the ham to the hock, and, of course, if that's cut orbroken that cripples that leg entirely."
"Right you are," said Mason, "up to a certain point; but did it everoccur to you how big and tough that tendon is, and did you ever stop tothink whether a wolf could bite through it with one snap of his jaws?"
"No; I confess that I never did. But now that you speak of it, it looksto me like a pretty good-sized contract for any animal to bite throughthat tendon at a single snap."
"That's what it is," answered Mason. "If you ever get a chance to trya knife on that tendon you'll find that unless the knife is sharp likea razor you'll have to put in a good deal of force, and do some littlesawing to get the blade through the tendon. We all know that a wolf isbig and strong and that he can bite tremendously hard, and that he'sgot sharp teeth. I believe that maybe a wolf has force enough in hisjaws to break a man's wrist, if he caught it just at the right point,but I don't believe that there ever was a wolf whelped that was ableto cut through that tendon at a single snap, unless by accident. Ofcourse, he might partly cut through it, and the animal's strugglesmight break it, but I don't believe that would happen once in athousand times. The way the wolves hamstring these animals, so far asI've been able to see, is by biting that tendon over and over again,and before long it gets all bruised and more or less shredded, andswells up and stiffens, and the animal is not able to use his leg. Ifthis happens to one or both legs, the first thing you know the animalis down and that's the end of it."
"Well, that's news to me," declared Jack. "I never thought of thatbefore. I always just took it for granted that a wolf, because he isbig and strong, could and did cut through that tendon by a snap of hisjaws; but the way you put it, it looks to me as if that would not bepossible."
"I've seen a number of cases," Mason continued, "where animals havebeen killed by wolves and I've always been interested in hearing aboutthis hamstringing, so I've paid particular attention to the conditionof that part of the leg, trying to see whether the tendon was ever cut,and I never have seen a case when it was cut."
"That's a new idea to me," repeated Jack. "I'd like to get more lighton it. Did you ever talk about it to Hugh? He's been on the prairie anawful long time."
"No; I don't think that I ever talked about it to anybody at all; butI'm like you, I'd like to know whether it is gospel or not. At allevents, it's what I've seen, and I think it's reason, too."
"It does seem reasonable," said Jack. "Let's ask Hugh when we getin to-night. Meantime we'll try to push along this cripple and letMcIntyre decide what's to be done with him."
It was late in the afternoon when the herd was turned out to feed nearthe camp; and at night, soon after McIntyre got in, Jack told him thestory of the crippled steer, and asked what should be done with it.
"Whose is it?" asked McIntyre.
"One of the Sturgis steers."
"Well," said McIntyre, "you and old man Johnson can decide what's tobe done with it; and whatever you say goes."
Hugh, when consulted, thought that the best thing was to leave itbehind them on the prairie, and that it must take its chances of livingor dying. With rest and feed it would probably recover, but if drivenalong with the herd it would be sure to get worse and finally wouldhave to be killed.
"All right," McIntyre consented; "when we move from here we'll leaveit, and let it take its chance. We'll stop over here to-morrow, and cutand brand."
That night as they sat around the fire, Jack asked Mason to tell Hughwhat he thought took place when an animal is hamstrung, and then askedHugh what his beliefs were about the matter.
"Why," replied Hugh, as he stuffed down the fire in his pipe witha callous forefinger, "of course, Mason is dead right. I supposedeverybody knew that. Hamstringing buffalo and stock means, I suppose,crippling them by hurting that big tendon above the hock. I've heardthat in old days sometimes the Mexicans, and maybe the Indians too,used to ride up behind a buffalo with a right sharp saber or macheteand by making a strong downward stroke did actually cut the hamstringand hurt the buffalo so that it had only three legs to go on; but Inever supposed that anybody thought a wolf could really cut a hamstringthrough in that way. It's just the way Jack Mason says, in ninety-ninecases out of a hundred, and you'll find that most mountain men and mostIndians who have seen anything will tell you just the same thing.
"I expect you read a whole lot in books that's written by men who neversaw the things happen that they describe: they've read of them perhapsa good many times, and sort of take it for granted that what they'veread is all right; but, really, they don't know what it means. I guessthis hamstringing business is one of those things. As Mason says, itmight happen now and then that a wolf's jaws that hit that tendon justright would partly cut it in two, and then the animal might break it instruggling, but that wouldn't happen often."
"There's another thing, Hugh," Jack said, "that I want Mason to tellyou--about some things he's heard from old John Monroe--some storiesabout how the Piegans came from their old home in the North down towhere they live now. I want to get him to tell us about that."
"Why, yes," replied Hugh, "those are right good stories. I've oftenheard old John Monroe and other old men talk about that. I supposedmaybe I'd told you about it, but I don't know as I have."
"No; I don't think you ever told me the whole story, though I've heardyou and other people up there talk about it as something that wasperfectly well known."
"Oh, yes," answered Hugh; "it's well known all right. All the old menknow about it, but lots of the young men don't know anything at allabout it. They don't care much about those old stories. All they wantto do is to be riding horses; or maybe some of them, if they shouldhave a dollar or so, go off down to the Birch Creek and buy some whiskywith it."
"Well, I suppose it's too late to hear the story to-night; butto-morrow night, if you feel like it, I'd like to have you tell usthose stories, Mason. You would like to hear them over again, wouldn'tyou, Hugh?"
"Sure," said Hugh; "I'd like to mighty well."
"Me, too," said Tulare J
oe, as he threw the stump of his cigarette intothe fire and rose to go to his blankets.
Jack the Young Cowboy: An Eastern Boy's Experiance on a Western Round-up Page 12