The Andy Adams Western MEGAPACK ™: 19 Classic Cowboy Tales

by Andy Adams

  Sleep blotted out the night. Dawn revealed the fact that the trail foreman knew the secrets of the plain. “That trail boss knew,” shouted Joel, rushing into the tent and awakening Dell. “The water rose in every pool. The lower one gained an inch and the upper one gained two. The creek is running freely. The water must be rising out of the ground. Let those Texans bring on their herds. We have oceans of water!”

  The cattle came. The first week thirty herds passed the new ranch. It took riding. The dead-line was held, the flotsam cared for, and a hand was ever ready to point a herd or nurse the drag end. Open house was maintained. Every arriving foreman was tendered a horse, and left his benediction on the Beaver.

  The ranch proved a haven to man and beast. One of the first foremen to arrive during the second week was Nat Straw. He drove up at sunset, with a chuck-wagon, halted at the tent, and in his usual easy manner inquired, “Where is the matron of this hospital?”

  “Here she is,” answered Dell, recognizing the man and surmising the situation. “One of your men hurt?”

  “Not seriously,” answered Straw, looking back into the wagon. “Just a little touch of the dengue. He’s been drinking stagnant water, out of cow tracks, for the last few months, and that gets into the bones of the best of us. I’m not feeling very well myself.”

  Dell lifted the wagon-sheet and peered inside. “Let’s get the poor fellow into the tent,” urged the boy. “Can he walk, or can you and I carry him?”

  “He’s the long size Texan, and we’d better try and trail him in,” answered Straw, alighting from the wagon. “Where’s Dr. Joel Wells?”

  “Riding the dead-line. He’ll be in shortly. I’ll fix a cot, and we’ll bring the sick man in at once.”

  It was simple malaria, known in the Southwest as dengue fever. The unfortunate lad was made comfortable, and on Joel riding in, Straw had skirmished some corn, and was feeding his mules.

  “As one of the founders of this hospital,” said Straw, after greeting Joel, “this corn has my approval. It is my orders, as one of the trustees, that it be kept in stock hereafter. This team has to go back to the Prairie Dog tonight, and this corn will fortify them for the trip.”

  The situation was explained. “I only lost half a day,” continued Straw, “by bringing the poor fellow over to you. He’s one of the best men that ever worked for me, and a month’s rest will put him on his feet again. Now, if one of you boys will take the team back to—”

  “Certainly,” answered Joel. “Anything a director of this hospital wants done—We’re running a relief station now—watering the entire drive this year. Where’s your outfit camped?”

  “A mile above the trail crossing on the Prairie Dog. The wagon’s empty. Leave here at two o’clock tonight, and you’ll get there in time for breakfast.”

  “I’m your man. Going to the Prairie Dog at night, in the summer, is a horse that’s easy curried.”

  The next evening Joel brought in Straw’s herd. In the mean time the sick man had been cared for, and the passing wayfarer and his cattle made welcome and sped on their way. During the lay-over, Straw had lost his place in the overland march, two herds having passed him and crossed the Beaver.

  “I’m corporal here today,” said Straw to the two foremen, who arrived together in advance. “On this water, I’m the squatter that’ll rob you right. You’ll count your cattle to me and pay the bill in advance. This cool, shaded water in the Beaver is worth three cents a head, and I’ll count you down to a toddling calf and your wagon mules. Your drafts are refused honor at the Beaver banks—nothing but the long green passes currency here. You varmints must show some regrets for taking advantage of a widow woman. I’ll make you sorry for passing me.”

  “How I love to hear old Nat rattle his little song,” said one of the foremen, shaking hands with Dell. “Remember the night you slept with me? How’s the black cow I gave you last summer?”

  Dell fairly clung to the grasped hand. “Pressnell’s foreman!” said he, recalling both man and incident. “The cow has a roan calf. Sit down. Will you need a fresh horse today? Do you like lettuce?”

  “I reckon, Nat,” said the other foreman, an hour later, as the two mounted loaned horses, “I reckon your big talk goes up in smoke. You’re not the only director in this cattle company. Dell, ransack both our wagons today, and see if you can’t unearth some dainties for this sick lad. No use looking in Straw’s commissary; he never has anything to eat; Injuns won’t go near his wagon.”

  Straw spent a second night with the sick man. On leaving in the morning, he took the feverish hand of the lad and said: “Now, Jack, make yourself right at home. These boys have been tried before, and they’re our people. I’m leaving you a saddle and a horse, and when you get on your feet, take your own bearings. You can always count on a job with me, and I’ll see that you draw wages until my outfit is relieved. This fever will burn itself out in a week or ten days. I’ll keep an eye over you until you are well. S’long, Jack.”

  The second week fell short only two herds of the previous one. There were fully as many cattle passed, and under the heat of advancing summer the pools suffered a thirsty levy. The resources of the ponds were a constant source of surprise, as an occasional heavy beef caved a foot into an old beaver warren, which poured its contents into the pools. At the end of the first fortnight, after watering fifty-eight herds, nearly half the original quantity of water was still in reserve.

  A third week passed. There was a decided falling off in the arrival of herds, only twenty-two crossing the Beaver. The water reserves suffered freely, more from the sun’s absorption than from cattle, until the supply became a matter of the most serious concern. The pools would not have averaged a foot in depth, the flow from the springs was a mere trickle, the beaver burrows sounded empty to a horse’s footbeat, and there must be some limit to the amount the parched soil would yield.

  The brothers found apt counsel in their guest. By the end of the second week, the fever had run its course, and the sick man, Jack Sargent, was up and observant of the situation. True to his calling, he felt for the cattle, and knew the importance of water on the Beaver to the passing drive.

  “You must rest these beaver ponds,” said Jack, in meeting the emergency. “Every time these pools lower an inch, it gives the sun an advantage. It’s absorption that’s swallowing up the ponds. You must deepen these pools, which will keep the water cooler. Rest these ponds a few days, or only water late at night. You have water for weeks yet, but don’t let the sun rob you. These ponds are living springs compared to some of the water we used south of Red River. Meet the herds on the divide, and pilot the early ones to the tanks below, and the late ones in here. Shifting in your saddle rests a horse, and a little shifting will save your water.”

  The advice was acted on. While convalescent, Sargent was installed as host on the Beaver, and the brothers took to their saddles. The majority of the herds were met on the Prairie Dog, and after a consultation with the foremen their cattle were started so as to reach the tanks by day or the ranch at evening. The month rounded out with the arrival of eighteen herds, only six of which touched at headquarters, and the fourth week saw a distinct gain in the water supply at the beaver dams. The boys barely touched at home, to change horses, living with the trail wagons, piloting in herds, rich in the reward of relieving the wayfaring, and content with the crumbs that fell to their range.

  The drouth of 1886 left a gruesome record in the pastoral history of the West. The southern end of the Texas and Montana cattle trail was marked by the bones of forty thousand cattle that fell, due to the want of water, during the months of travail on that long march. Some of this loss was due to man’s inhumanity to the cattle of the fields, in withholding water, but no such charge rested on the owners of the little ranch on the Beaver.

  A short month witnessed the beginning of the end of the year’
s drive. Only such herds as were compelled to, and those that had strength in reserve, dared the plain between the Arkansas and Platte Rivers. The fifth week only six herds arrived, all of which touched at the ranch; half of them had been purchased at Dodge, had neither a cripple nor a stray to bestow, but shared the welcome water and passed on.

  One of the purchased herds brought a welcome letter to Joel. It was from Don Lovell, urgently accenting anew his previous invitation to come to Dodge and look over the market.

  “After an absence of several weeks,” wrote Mr. Lovell, “I have returned to Dodge. From a buyer’s standpoint, the market is inviting. The boom prices which prevailed in ‘84 are cut in half. Any investment in cattle now is perfectly safe.

  “I have ordered three of my outfits to return here. They will pass your ranch. Fall in with the first one that comes along. Bring a mount of horses, and report to me on arriving. Fully half this year’s drive is here, unsold. Be sure and come.”

  “Are you going?” inquired Dell on reading the letter.

  “I am,” answered Joel with emphasis.

  “That’s the talk,” said Sargent. “Whenever cattle get so cheap that no other man will look a cow in the face, that’s the time to buy her. Folks are like sheep; the Bible says so; they all want to buy or all want to sell. I only know Mr. Lovell from what you boys have told me; but by ordering three outfits to return to Dodge, I can see that he’s going to take advantage of that market and buy about ten thousand cattle. You’ve got the range. Buy this summer. I’ll stay with Dell until you return. Buy a whole herd of steers, and I’ll help you hold them this winter.”

  The scene shifted. Instead of looking to the south for a dust cloud, the slopes of the north were scanned for an approaching cavalcade. The last week admitted of taking an account of the cattle dropped at the new ranch. From the conserves of its owners, one hundred and four herds had watered, over three hundred thousand cattle, the sweepings of which amounted to a few over eleven hundred head, fully fifty of which, exhausted beyond recovery, died after reaching their new range.

  By the end of July, only an occasional herd was arriving. August was ushered in with the appearance of Bob Quirk, one of the division foremen, on the upper march. He arrived early in the morning, in advance of his outfit barely an hour, and inquired for Joel. Dell answered for the brothers, the older one and Sargent being above at Hackberry Grove.

  “I have orders to bring him to Dodge,” said Quirk, dismounting. “Make haste and bring in the remuda. We’ll cut him out a mount of six horses and throw them in with mine. Joel can follow on the seventh. My outfit will barely touch here in passing. We’re due to receive cattle in Dodge on the 5th, and time is precious. Joel can overtake us before night. Make haste.”

  CHAPTER XVI

  A PROTECTED CREDIT

  The trail outfit swept past the ranch, leaving Dell on nettles. The importance of the message was urgent, and saddling up a horse, he started up the Beaver in search of Joel and Sargent. They were met returning, near the dead-line, and after listening to the breathless report, the trio gave free rein to their horses on the homeward ride.

  “I’ll use old Rowdy for my seventh horse,” said Joel, swinging out of the saddle at the home corral. “Bring him in and give him a feed of corn. It may be late when I overtake the outfit. Mr. Quince says that that old horse has cow-sense to burn; that he can scent a camp at night, or trail a remuda like a hound.”

  An hour later Joel cantered up to the tent. “This may be a wild-goose chase,” said he, “but I’m off. If my hopes fall dead, I can make a hand coming back. Sargent, if I do buy any cattle, your name goes on the pay-roll from today. I’ll leave you in charge of the ranch, anyhow. There isn’t much to do except to ride the dead-line twice a day. The wintered cattle are located; and the cripples below—the water and their condition will hold them. Keep open house, and amuse yourselves the best you can. That’s about all I can think of just now.”

  Joel rode away in serious meditation. Although aged beyond his years, he was only seventeen. That he could ride into Dodge City, the far-famed trail-town of the West, and without visible resources buy cattle, was a fit subject for musing. There the drovers from Texas and the ranchmen from the north and west met and bartered for herds—where the drive of the year amounted to millions in value. Still the boy carried a pressing invitation from a leading drover to come, and neither slacking rein nor looking back, he was soon swallowed up in the heat-waves over the plain.

  Sargent and Dell sought the shelter of the awning. “Well,” said the latter, “that trip’s a wild-goose chase. How he expects to buy cattle without money gets me.”

  “It may be easier than it seems,” answered Sargent. “You secured a start in cattle last summer without money. Suppose you save a thousand head out of the cripples this year, what have they cost you?”

  “That’s different,” protested Dell. “Dodge City is a market where buyers and sellers meet.”

  “True enough. And behind that are unseen conditions. The boom of two years ago in land and live stock bankrupted many people in Texas. Cattle companies were organized on the very summit of that craze. Then came the slump. Last year cattle had fallen in price nearly forty percent. This year there is a further falling. I’m giving you Texas conditions. Half the herds at Dodge today are being handled by the receivers of cattle companies or by trustees for banks. That accounts for the big drive. Then this drouth came on, and the offerings at Dodge are unfit for any purpose, except to restock ranches. And those northern ranchmen know it. They’ll buy the cattle at their own price and pay for them when they get good and ready.”

  Dell was contending for his view. “Do you claim that a northern cowman can buy cattle from a Texas drover without money?”

  “Certainly. When one sheep jumps off the cliff and breaks his neck, all the rest jump off and break their necks. When money is pouring into cattle, as it was two years ago, range cattle were as good as gold. Now, when all that investment is trying to withdraw from cattle, they become a drag on the market. The Simple Simons ain’t all dead yet. Joel will buy cattle.”

  “He may, but I don’t see how.”

  “Buy them just as any other wide-awake cowman. You brothers are known in Dodge. This water that you have given the drovers, during the drouth, has made you friends. Mr. Lovell’s word, in your behalf, is as good as money in the bank. Joel will come back with cattle. My only fear is, he won’t strain his credit.”

  “Credit! Who would credit us?”

  “Why not? There are not so many drovers at Dodge who had your showing at the same age. They have fought their way up and know who to credit. Your range and ability to hold cattle are your best assets. We must shape up the ranch, because Joel will come in with cattle.”

  “You’re the foreman,” said Dell assentingly. “And what’s more, if Joel comes home with cattle, I’ll hit the ground with my hat and shout as loud as any of you.”

  “That’s the talk. I’m playing Joel to come back winner. Let’s saddle up horses, and ride through the cripples this afternoon. I want to get the lay of the range, and the water, and a line on the cattle.”

  Joel overtook Bob Quirk midway between the Prairie Dog and the railroad. The outfit was drifting south at the rate of forty miles a day, traveling early and late to avoid the heat. On sighting the lone horseman in the rear, signals were exchanged, and the foreman halted until Joel overtook the travelers.

  “This is the back track,” said Quirk, “and we’re expected to crowd three days into one. I don’t know what the old man wants with you, but I had a wire to pick you up.”

  “Mr. Lovell has been urging me to stock our range—to buy more cattle,” admitted Joel.

  “That’s what I thought. He’s buying right and left. We’re on our way now to receive cattle. That’s it; the old man has a bunch of cattle in sight for you.”
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  “Possibly. But what’s worrying me is, how am I to buy them—if it takes any money!” dejectedly admitted the husky boy.

  “Is that fretting you?” lightly inquired Quirk. “Let the old man do the worrying—that’s his long suit. You can rest easy that he has everything all figured out. It might keep you and I guessing, but it’s as clear as mud to that old man. We’ll make Dodge in four days.”

  The ravages of the drouth were disheartening. A few hours after sunrise, a white haze settled over the dull, dead plain, the heat-waves rolled up to the cavalcade like a burning prairie, sweat and dust crusted over the horses under saddle, without variation of pace or course. Only three herds were met, feeling their way through the mirages, or loitering along the waters. Traveling by night was preferable, and timing the route into camps and marches, the cottonwood on the Arkansas River was sighted in advance of the schedule.

  The outfit halted on a creek north of town. Cattle under herd had been sighted by the thousands, and before the camp was made snug, a conveyance drove up and Forrest and Don Lovell alighted.

  “Well, Bob, you’re a little ahead of time,” said the latter, amid general greetings, “but I’m glad of it. I’ve closed trades on enough cattle to make up a herd, and the sellers are hurrying me to receive them. Pick up a full outfit of men tonight, and we’ll receive tomorrow afternoon. Quince took the train at Cheyenne, but his outfit ought to reach here in a day or so. I’ve laid my tape on this market, and have all the cattle in sight that I want. Several deals are pending, awaiting the arrival of this boy. Come to town tonight. I’ll take Joel under my wing right now.”

  Three horses were caught, Joel riding one and leading two, and the vehicle started. It was still early in the afternoon, and following down the creek, within an hour the party reached a trail wagon encamped. A number of men were about, including a foreman; and at the request of Mr. Lovell to look over their cattle and horses again the camp took on an air of activity. A small remuda was corralled within ropes, running from choice to common horses, all of which were looked over carefully by the trio, including the wagon team. A number of horses were under saddle, and led by the foreman, a quartette of men started in advance to bunch the herd.