CHAPTER X
THE CATTLE TRAIN
Dave stood on the fence of one of the shipping pens at the Albuquerquestockyards and used a prod-pole to guide the bawling cattle below. TheFifty-Four Quarter Circle was loading a train of beef steers and cows forDenver. Just how he was going to manage it Dave did not know, but heintended to be aboard that freight when it pulled out for the mile-hightown in Colorado.
He had reached Albuquerque by a strange and devious route of zigzags andback-trackings. His weary bronco he had long since sold for ten dollarsat a cow town where he had sacked his saddle to be held at a liverystable until sent for. By blind baggage he had ridden a night and part ofa day. For a hundred miles he had actually paid his fare. The next leg ofthe journey had been more exciting. He had elected to travel by freight.For many hours he and a husky brakeman had held different opinions aboutthis. Dave had been chased from the rods into an empty and out of the boxcar to the roof. He had been ditched half a dozen times during the night,but each time he had managed to hook on before the train had gatheredheadway. The brakeman enlisted the rest of the crew in the hunt, with theresult that the range-rider found himself stranded on the desert tenmiles from a station. He walked the ties in his high-heeled boots, andbefore he reached the yards his feet were sending messages of pain atevery step. Reluctantly he bought a ticket to Albuquerque. Here he hadpicked up a temporary job ten minutes after his arrival.
A raw-boned inspector kept tally at the chute while the cattle passed upinto the car.
"Fifteen, sixteen--prod 'em up, you Arizona--seventeen, eighteen--jabthat whiteface along--nineteen--hustle 'em in."
The air was heavy with the dust raised by the milling cattle. Calvesstretched their necks and blatted for their mothers, which kept up inturn a steady bawling for their strayed offspring. They were consciousthat something unusual was in progress, something that threatened theirsecurity and comfort, and they resented it in the only way they knew.
Car after car was jammed full of the frightened creatures as the menmoved from pen to pen, threw open and shut the big gates, and hustled thestock up the chutes. Dave had begun work at six in the morning. A glanceat his watch showed him that it was now ten o'clock.
A middle-aged man in wrinkled corduroys and a pinched-in white hat droveup to the fence. "How're they coming, Sam?" he asked of the foreman incharge.
"We'd ought to be movin' by noon, Mr. West."
"Fine. I've decided to send Garrison in charge. He can pick one of theboys to take along. We can't right well spare any of 'em now. If I knewwhere to find a good man--"
The lean Arizona-born youth slid from the fence on his prod-pole andstepped forward till he stood beside the buckboard of the cattleman.
"I'm the man you're lookin' for, Mr. West."
The owner of the Fifty-Four Quarter Circle brand looked him over withkeen eyes around which nets of little wrinkles spread.
"What man?" he asked.
"The one to help Mr. Garrison take the cattle to Denver."
"Recommend yoreself, can you?" asked West with a hint of humor.
"Yes, sir."
"Who are you?"
"Dave Sanders--from Arizona, first off."
"Been punchin' long?"
"Since I was a kid. Worked for the D Bar Lazy R last."
"Ever go on a cattle train?"
"Twice--to Kansas City."
"Hmp!" That grunt told Dave just what the difficulty was. It said, "Idon't know you. Why should I trust you to help take a trainload of mycattle through?"
"You can wire to Mr. Crawford at Malapi and ask him about me," the youngfellow suggested.
"How long you ride for him?"
"Three years comin' grass."
"How do I knew you you're the man you say you are?"
"One of yore boys knows me--Bud Holway."
West grunted again. He knew Emerson Crawford well. He was a level-headedcowman and his word was as good as his bond. If Em said this young manwas trustworthy, the shipper was willing to take a chance on him. Thehonest eye, the open face, the straightforward manner of the youthrecommended his ability and integrity. The shipper was badly in need ofa man. He made up his mind to wire.
"Let you know later," he said, and for the moment dropped Dave out of theconversation.
But before noon he sent for him.
"I've heard from Crawford," he said, and mentioned terms.
"Whatever's fair," agreed Dave.
An hour later he was in the caboose of a cattle train rolling eastward.He was second in command of a shipment consigned to the Denver TerminalStockyards Company. Most of them were shipped by the West Cattle Company.An odd car was a jackpot bunch of pickups composed of various brands. Allthe cars were packed to the door, as was the custom of those days.
After the train had settled down to the chant of the rails Garrisonsent Dave on a tour of the cars. The young man reported all well andreturned to the caboose. The train crew was playing poker for smallstakes. Garrison had joined them. For a time Dave watched, then reada four-day-old newspaper through to the last advertisement. The hum ofthe wheels made him drowsy. He stretched out comfortably on the seatwith his coat for a pillow.
When he awoke it was beginning to get dark. Garrison had left thecaboose, evidently to have a look at the stock. Dave ate some crackersand cheese, climbed to the roof, and with a lantern hanging on his armmoved forward.
Already a few of the calves, yielding to the pressure in the heavilyladen cars, had tried to escape it by lying down. With his prod Davedrove back the nearest animal. Then he used the nail in the pole to twistthe tails of the calves and force them to their feet. In those days ofcrowded cars almost the most important thing in transit was to keep thecattle on their legs to prevent any from being trampled and smothered todeath.
As the night grew older both men were busier. With their lanterns andprod-poles they went from car to car relieving the pressure wherever itwas greatest. The weaker animals began to give way, worn out by theheavy lurching and the jam of heavy bodies against them. They had to bedefended against their own weakness.
Dave was crossing from the top of one car to another when he heard hisname called. He knew the voice belonged to Garrison and he listened tomake sure from which car it came. Presently he heard it a second timeand localized the sound as just below him. He entered the car by theend door near the roof.
"Hello! Call me?" he asked.
"Yep. I done fell and bust my laig. Can you get me outa here?"
"Bad, is it?"
"Broken."
"I'll get some of the train hands. Will you be all right till I getback?" the young man asked.
"I reckon. Hop along lively. I'm right in the jam here."
The conductor stopped the train. With the help of the crew Dave gotGarrison back to the caboose. There was no doubt that the leg was broken.It was decided to put the injured man off at the next station, send himback by the up train, and wire West that Dave would see the cattle gotthrough all right. This was done.
Dave got no more sleep that night. He had never been busier in his life.Before morning broke half the calves were unable to keep their feet. Theonly thing to do was to reload.
He went to the conductor and asked for a siding. The man running thetrain was annoyed, but he did not say so. He played for time.
"All right. We'll come to one after a while and I'll put you on it," hepromised.
Half an hour later the train rumbled merrily past a siding withoutstopping. Dave walked back along the roof to the caboose.
"We've just passed a siding," he told the trainman.
"Couldn't stop there. A freight behind us has orders to take that to letthe Limited pass," he said glibly.
Dave suspected he was lying, but he could not prove it. He asked wherethe next siding was.
"A little ways down," said a brakeman.
The puncher saw his left eyelid droop in a wink to the conductor. He knewnow that they were "stalling" for time. The end of their run lay onl
ythirty miles away. They had no intention of losing two or three hours'time while the cattle were reloaded. After the train reached the divisionpoint another conductor and crew would have to wrestle with the problem.
Young Sanders felt keenly his inexperience. They were taking advantage ofhim because he was a boy. He did not know what to do. He had a right toinsist on a siding, but it was not his business to decide which one.
The train rolled past another siding and into the yards of the divisiontown. At once Dave hurried to the station. The conductor about to takecharge of the train was talking with the one just leaving. Therange-rider saw them look at him and laugh as he approached. His bloodbegan to warm.
"I want you to run this train onto a siding," he said at once.
"You the train dispatcher?" asked the new man satirically.
"You know who I am. I'll say right now that the cattle on this train aresuffering. Some won't last another hour. I'm goin' to reload."
"Are you? I guess not. This train's going out soon as we've changedengines, and that'll be in about seven minutes."
"I'll not go with it."
"Suit yourself," said the officer jauntily, and turned away to talk withthe other man.
Dave walked to the dispatcher's office. The cowpuncher stated his case.
"Fix that up with the train conductor," said the dispatcher. "He can havea siding whenever he wants it."
"But he won't gimme one."
"Not my business."
"Whose business is it?"
The dispatcher got busy over his charts. Dave became aware that he wasgoing to get no satisfaction here.
He tramped back to the platform.
"All aboard," sang out the conductor.
Dave, not knowing what else to do, swung on to the caboose as it passed.He sat down on the steps and put his brains at work. There must be a wayout, if he could only find what it was. The next station was fifteenmiles down the line. Before the train stopped there Dave knew exactlywhat he meant to do. He wrote out two messages. One was to the divisionsuperintendent. The other was to Henry B. West.
He had swung from the steps of the caboose and was in the station beforethe conductor.
"I want to send two telegrams," he told the agent. "Here they are allready. Rush 'em through. I want an answer here to the one to thesuperintendent."
The wire to the railroad official read:
Conductor freight number 17 refuses me siding to reload stock in mycharge. Cattle down and dying. Serve notice herewith I put responsibilityfor all loss on railroad. Will leave cars in charge of train crew.
DAVID SANDERS
_Representing West Cattle Company_
The other message was just as direct.
Conductor refuses me siding to reload. Cattle suffering and dying. Havewired division superintendent. Will refuse responsibility and leave trainunless siding given me.
DAVE SANDERS
The conductor caught the eye of the agent.
"I'll send the wires when I get time," said the latter to the cowboy.
"You'll send 'em now--right now," announced Dave.
"Say, are you the president of the road?" bristled the agent.
"You'll lose yore job within forty-eight hours if you don't send themtelegrams _now_. I'll see to that personal." Dave leaned forward andlooked at him steadily.
The conductor spoke to the agent, nodding his head insolently towardDave. "Young-man-heap-swelled-head," he introduced him.
But the agent had had a scare. It was his job at stake, not theconductor's. He sat down sulkily and sent the messages.
The conductor read his orders and walked to the door. "Number 17 leaving.All aboard," he called back insolently.
"I'm stayin' here till I hear from the superintendent," answered Daveflatly. "You leave an' you've got them cattle to look out for. They'll bein yore care."
The conductor swaggered out and gave the signal to go. The train drew outfrom the station and disappeared around a curve in the track. Fiveminutes later it backed in again. The conductor was furious.
"Get aboard here, you hayseed, if you're goin' to ride with me!" heyelled.
Dave was sitting on the platform whittling a stick. His back wascomfortably resting against a truck. Apparently he had not heard.
The conductor strode up to him and looked down at the lank boy. "Say, areyou comin' or ain't you?" he shouted, as though he had been fifty yardsaway instead of four feet.
"Talkin' to me?" Dave looked up with amiable surprise. "Why, no, not ifyou're in a hurry. I'm waitin' to hear from the superintendent."
"If you think any boob can come along and hold my train up till I losemy right of way you've got another guess comin'. I ain't goin' to besidetracked by every train on the division."
"That's the company's business, not mine. I'm interested only in mycattle."
The conductor had a reputation as a bully. He had intended to overridethis young fellow by weight of age, authority, and personality. That hehad failed filled him with rage.
"Say, for half a cent I'd kick you into the middle of next week," hesaid, between clamped teeth.
The cowpuncher's steel-blue eyes met his steadily. "Do you reckon thatwould be quite safe?" he asked mildly.
That was a question the conductor had been asking himself. He did notknow. A good many cowboys carried six-shooters tucked away on their amplepersons. It was very likely this one had not set out on his long journeywithout one.
"You're more obstinate than a Missouri mule," the railroad man exploded."I don't have to put up with you, and I won't!"
"No?"
The agent came out from the station waving two slips of paper. "Heardfrom the super," he called.
One wire was addressed to Dave, the other to the conductor. Dave read:
Am instructing conductor to put you on siding and place train crew underyour orders to reload.
Beneath was the signature of the superintendent.
The conductor flushed purple as he read the orders sent by his superior.
"Well," he stormed at Dave. "What do you want? Spit it out!"
"Run me on the siding. I'm gonna take the calves out of the cars and tie'em on the feed-racks above."
"How're you goin' to get 'em up?"
"Elbow grease."
"If you think I'll turn my crew into freight elevators because some foolcattleman didn't know how to load right--"
"Maybe you've got a kick comin'. I'll not say you haven't. But this is anemergency. I'm willin' to pay good money for the time they help me." Davemade no reference to the telegram in his hand. He was giving theconductor a chance to save his face.
"Oh, well, that's different. I'll put it up to the boys."
Three hours later the wheels were once more moving eastward. Dave had hadthe calves roped down to the feed-racks above the cars.
Gunsight Pass: How Oil Came to the Cattle Country and Brought a New West Page 10