by Andy Adams
“Before leaving I noticed a Pinto horse hitched to a tree some distance in the rear of the house, and as we were expecting to buy a number of horses, I walked back and looked this one carefully over.
He was very peculiarly color-marked in the mane. I inquired for his owner, but they told me that he was not about at present. It was growing dusk when we started out again. The evening was warm and sultry and threatening rain. We had been on our way about an hour when I realized we had left the main road and were bumping along on a by-road. I asked the driver his reason for this, and he explained that it was a cut-off, and that by taking it we would save three miles and half an hour’s time. As a further reason he expressed his opinion that we would have rain that night, and that he was anxious to reach the hacienda in good time. I encouraged him to drive faster, which he did.
Within another hour I noticed we were going down a dry arroyo, with mesquite brush on both sides of the road, which was little better than a trail. My suspicions were never aroused sufficiently to open the little hand-bag and belt on the six-shooter. I was dreaming along when we came to a sudden stop before what seemed a deserted jacal.
The Mexicans mumbled something to each other over some disappointment, when the driver said to me:-“‘Here’s where we stay all night. This is the hacienda.’ They both got out and insisted on my getting out, but I refused to do so. I reached down and picked up my little grip and was in the act of opening it, when one of them grabbed my arm and jerked me out of the seat to the ground. I realized then for the first time that I was in for it in earnest. I never knew before that I could put up such a fine defense, for inside a minute I had them both blinded in their own blood. I gathered up rocks and had them flying when I heard a clatter of hoofs coming down the arroyo like a squadron of cavalry. They were so close on to me that I took to the brush, without hat, coat, or pistol. Men that pack a gun all their lives never have it when they need it; that was exactly my fix. Darkness was in my favor, but I had no more idea where I was or which way I was going than a baby. One thing sure, I was trying to get away from there as fast as I could. The night was terribly dark, and about ten o’clock it began to rain a deluge. I kept going all night, but must have been circling.
“Towards morning I came to an arroyo which was running full of water.
My idea was to get that between me and the scene of my trouble, so I took off my boots to wade it. When about one third way across, I either stepped off a bluff bank or into a well, for I went under and dropped the boots. When I came to the surface I made a few strokes swimming and landed in a clump of mesquite brush, to which I clung, got on my feet, and waded out to the opposite bank more scared than hurt. Right there I lay until daybreak.
“The thing that I remember best now was the peculiar odor of the wet mole-skin. If there had been a strolling artist about looking for a picture of Despair, I certainly would have filled the bill. The sleeves were torn out of my shirt, and my face and arms were scratched and bleeding from the thorns of the mesquite. No one who could have seen me then would ever have dreamed that I was a walking depositary of ‘Other People’s Money.’ When it got good daylight I started out and kept the shelter of the brush to hide me. After nearly an hour’s travel, I came out on a divide, and about a mile off I saw what looked like a jacal. Directly I noticed a smoke arise, and I knew then it was a habitation. My appearance was not what I desired, but I approached it.
“In answer to my knock at the door a woman opened it about two inches and seemed to be more interested in examination of my anatomy than in listening to my troubles. After I had made an earnest sincere talk she asked me, ‘No estay loco tu?’ I assured her that I was perfectly sane, and that all I needed was food and clothing, for which I would pay her well. It must have been my appearance that aroused her sympathy, for she admitted me and fed me.
“The woman had a little girl of probably ten years of age. This little girl brought me water to wash myself, while the mother prepared me something to eat. I was so anxious to pay these people that I found a five-dollar gold piece in one of my pockets and gave it to the little girl, who in turn gave it to her mother. While I was drinking the coffee and eating my breakfast, the woman saw me looking at a picture of the Virgin Mary which was hanging on the adobe wall opposite me.
She asked me if I was a Catholic, which I admitted. Then she brought out a shirt and offered it to me.
“Suddenly the barking of a dog attracted her to the door. She returned breathless, and said in good Spanish: ‘For God’s sake, run! Fly! Don’t let my husband and brother catch you here, for they are coming home.’
She thrust the shirt into my hand and pointed out the direction in which I should go. From a concealed point of the brush I saw two men ride up to the jacal and dismount. One of them was riding the Pinto horse I had seen the day before.
“I kept the brush for an hour or so, and finally came out on the mesa.
Here I found a flock of sheep and a pastore. From this shepherd I learned that I was about ten miles from the main road. He took the sandals from his own feet and fastened them on mine, gave me directions, and about night I reached the hacienda, where I was kindly received and cared for. This ranchero sent after officers and had the country scoured for the robbers. I was detained nearly a week, to see if I could identify my drivers, without result. They even brought in the owner of the Pinto horse, and no doubt husband of the woman who saved my life.
“After a week’s time I joined our own outfit, and I never heard a language that sounded so sweet as the English of my own tongue. I would have gone back and testified against the owner of the spotted horse if it hadn’t been for a woman and a little girl who depended on him, robber that he was.”
“Now, girls,” said Baugh, addressing Carter and the stranger, “I’ve made you a bed out of the wagon-sheet, and rustled a few blankets from the boys. You’ll find the bed under the wagon-tongue, and we’ve stretched a fly over it to keep the dew off you, besides adding privacy to your apartments. So you can turn in when you run out of stories or get sleepy.”
“Haven’t you got one for us?” inquired the cattle-buyer of Baugh.
“This is no time to throw off, or refuse to be sociable.”
“Well, now, that bank robbery that you were telling the boys about,”
said Baugh, as he bit the tip from a fresh cigar, “reminds me of a hold-up that I was in up in the San Juan mining country in Colorado.
We had driven into that mining camp a small bunch of beef and had sold them to fine advantage. The outfit had gone back, and I remained behind to collect for the cattle, expecting to take the stage and overtake the outfit down on the river. I had neglected to book my passage in advance, so when the stage was ready to start I had to content myself with a seat on top. I don’t remember the amount of money I had. It was the proceeds of something like one hundred and fifty beeves, in a small bag along of some old clothes. There wasn’t a cent of it mine, still I was supposed to look after it.
“The driver answered to the name of South-Paw, drove six horses, and we had a jolly crowd on top. Near midnight we were swinging along, and as we rounded a turn in the road, we noticed a flickering light ahead some distance which looked like the embers of a camp-fire. As we came nearly opposite the light, the leaders shied at some object in the road in front of them. South-Paw uncurled his whip, and was in the act of pouring the leather into them, when that light was uncovered as big as the headlight of an engine. An empty five-gallon oil-can had been cut in half and used as a reflector, throwing full light into the road sufficient to cover the entire coach. Then came a round of orders which meant business. ‘Shoot them leaders if they cross that obstruction!’ ‘Kill any one that gets off on the opposite side!’
‘Driver, move up a few feet farther!’ ‘A few feet farther, please.’
‘That’ll do; thank you, sir.’ ‘Now, every son-of-a-horse-thief, get out on this side of the coach, please, and be quick about it!’
“The man giving
these orders stood a few feet behind the lamp and out of sight, but the muzzle of a Winchester was plainly visible and seemed to cover every man on the stage. It is needless to say that we obeyed, got down in the full glare of the light, and lined up with our backs to the robber, hands in the air. There was a heavily veiled woman on the stage, whom he begged to hold the light for him, assuring her that he never robbed a woman. This veiled person disappeared at the time, and was supposed to have been a confederate. When the light was held for him, he drew a black cap over each one of us, searching everybody for weapons. Then he proceeded to rob us, and at last went through the mail. It took him over an hour to do the job; he seemed in no hurry.
“It was not known what he got out of the mail, but the passengers yielded about nine hundred revenue to him, while there was three times that amount on top the coach in my grip, wrapped in a dirty flannel shirt. When he disappeared we were the cheapest lot of men imaginable.
It was amusing to hear the excuses, threats, and the like; but the fact remained the same, that a dozen of us had been robbed by a lone highwayman. I felt good over it, as the money in the grip had been overlooked.
“Well, we cleared out the obstruction in the road, and got aboard the coach once more. About four o’clock in the morning we arrived at our destination, only two hours late. In the hotel office where the stage stopped was the very man who had robbed us. He had got in an hour ahead of us, and was a very much interested listener to the incident as retold. There was an early train out of town that morning, and at a place where they stopped for breakfast he sat at the table with several drummers who were in the hold-up, a most attentive listener.
“He was captured the same day. He had hired a horse out of a livery stable the day before, to ride out to look at a ranch he thought of buying. The liveryman noticed that he limped slightly. He had collided with lead in Texas, as was learned afterward. The horse which had been hired to the ranch-buyer of the day before was returned to the corral of the livery barn at an unknown hour during the night, and suspicion settled on the lame man. When he got off the train at Pueblo, he walked into the arms of officers. The limp had marked him clearly.
“In a grip which he carried were a number of sacks, which he supposed contained gold dust, but held only taulk on its way to assayers in Denver. These he had gotten out of the express the night before, supposing they were valuable. We were all detained as witnesses. He was tried for robbing the mails, and was the coolest man in the court room. He was a tall, awkward-looking fellow, light complexioned, with a mild blue eye. His voice, when not disguised, would mark him amongst a thousand men. It was peculiarly mild and soft, and would lure a babe from its mother’s arms.
“At the trial he never tried to hide his past, and you couldn’t help liking the fellow for his frank answers.
“‘Were you ever charged with any crime before?’ asked the prosecution.
‘If so, when and where?’
“‘Yes,’ said the prisoner, ‘in Texas, for robbing the mails in ‘77.’
“‘What was the result?’ continued the prosecution.
“‘They sent me over the road for ninety-nine years.’
“‘Then how does it come that you are at liberty?’ quizzed the attorney.
“‘Well, you see the President of the United States at that time was a warm personal friend of mine, though we had drifted apart somewhat.
When he learned that the Federal authorities had interfered with my liberties, he pardoned me out instantly.’
“‘What did you do then?’ asked the attorney.
“‘Well, I went back to Texas, and was attending to my own business, when I got into a little trouble and had to kill a man. Lawyers down there won’t do anything for you without you have money, and as I didn’t have any for them, I came up to this country to try and make an honest dollar.’
“He went over the road a second time, and wasn’t in the Federal prison a year before he was released through influence. Prison walls were never made to hold as cool a rascal as he was. Have you a match?”
It was an ideal night. Millions of stars flecked the sky overhead.
No one seemed willing to sleep. We had heard the evening gun and the trumpets sounding tattoo over at the fort, but their warnings of the closing day were not for us. The guards changed, the cattle sleeping like babes in a trundle-bed. Finally one by one the boys sought their blankets, while sleep and night wrapped these children of the plains in her arms.
II
SEIGERMAN’S PER CENT
Towards the wind-up of the Cherokee Strip Cattle Association it became hard to ride a chuck-line in winter. Some of the cattle companies on the range, whose headquarters were far removed from the scene of active operations, saw fit to give orders that the common custom of feeding all comers and letting them wear their own welcome out must be stopped. This was hard on those that kept open house the year round. There was always a surplus of men on the range in the winter.
Sometimes there might be ten men at a camp, and only two on the pay-roll. These extra men were called “chuck-line riders.” Probably eight months in the year they all had employment. At many camps they were welcome, as they would turn to and help do anything that was wanted done.
After a hard freeze it would be necessary to cut the ice, so that the cattle could water. A reasonable number of guests were no drawback at a time like this, as the chuck-line men would be the most active in opening the ice with axes. The cattle belonging to those who kept open house never got so far away that some one didn’t recognize the brand and turn them back towards their own pasture. It was possible to cast bread upon the waters, even on the range.
The new order of things was received with many protests. Late in the fall three worthies of the range formed a combine, and laid careful plans of action, in case they should get let out of a winter’s job.
“I’ve been on the range a good while,” said Baugh, the leader of this trio, “but hereafter I’ll not ride my horses down, turning back the brand of any hidebound cattle company.”
“That won’t save you from getting hit with a cheque for your time when the snow begins to drift,” commented Stubb.
“When we make our grand tour of the State this winter,” remarked Arab Ab, “we’ll get that cheque of Baugh’s cashed, together with our own.
One thing sure, we won’t fret about it; still we might think that riding a chuck-line would beat footing it in a granger country, broke.”
“Oh, we won’t go broke,” said Baugh, who was the leader in the idea that they would go to Kansas for the winter, and come back in the spring when men are wanted.
So when the beef season had ended, the calves had all been branded up and everything made snug for the winter, the foreman said to the boys at breakfast one morning, “Well, lads, I’ve kept you on the pay-roll as long as there has been anything to do, but this morning I’ll have to give you your time. These recent orders of mine are sweeping, for they cut me down to one man, and we are to do our own cooking. I’m sorry that any of you that care to can’t spend the winter with us.
It’s there that my orders are very distasteful to me, for I know what it is to ride a chuck-line myself. You all know that it’s no waste of affection by this company that keeps even two of us on the pay-roll.”
While the foreman was looking up accounts and making out the time of each, Baugh asked him, “When is the wagon going in after the winter’s supplies?”
“In a day or two,” answered the foreman. “Why?”
“Why, Stubby, Arab, and myself want to leave our saddles and private horses here with you until spring. We’re going up in the State for the winter, and will wait and go in with the wagon.”
“That will be all right,” said the foreman. “You’ll find things right side up when you come after them, and a job if I can give it to you.”
“Don’t you think it’s poor policy,” asked Stubb of the foreman, as the latter handed him his time, “to refuse the men a roof and the
bite they eat in winter?”
“You may ask that question at headquarters, when you get your time cheque cashed. I’ve learned not to think contrary to my employers; not in the mouth of winter, anyhow.”
“Oh, we don’t care,” said Baugh; “we’re going to take in the State for a change of scenery. We’ll have a good time and plenty of fun on the side.”
The first snow-squall of the season came that night, and the wagon could not go in for several days. When the weather moderated the three bade the foreman a hearty good-by and boarded the wagon for town, forty miles away. This little village was a supply point for the range country to the south, and lacked that diversity of entertainment that the trio desired. So to a larger town westward, a county seat, they hastened by rail. This hamlet they took in by sections. There were the games running to suit their tastes, the variety theatre with its painted girls, and handbills announced that on the 24th of December and Christmas Day there would be horse races. To do justice to all this melted their money fast.
Their gay round of pleasure had no check until the last day of the races. Heretofore they had held their own in the games, and the first day of the races they had even picked several winners. But grief was in store for Baugh the leader, Baugh the brains of the trio. He had named the winners so easily the day before, that now his confidence knew no bounds. His opinion was supreme on a running horse, though he cautioned the others not to risk their judgment—in fact, they had better follow him. “I’m going to back that sorrel gelding, that won yesterday in the free-for-all to-day,” said he to Stubb and Arab, “and if you boys go in with me, we’ll make a killing.”