The Andy Adams Western MEGAPACK ™: 19 Classic Cowboy Tales

by Andy Adams

  The wagon had arrived, and the men reached camp by twos and threes. There was little danger of the cattle returning to their favorite range during the night, but for fear of stragglers, at an early hour in the morning the drag-net was again thrown out from camp. Headquarters was passed before the horsemen began encountering any quantity of cattle, and after passing the old winter corral, the men on the points of the half-circle were sent to ride the extreme limits of the range. By the middle of the forenoon, everything was adrift, and as the cattle naturally turned into the valley for their daily drink, a few complete circles brought the total herd into a general round-up, numbering over fifteen hundred head of mixed cattle.

  Meanwhile the wagon and remuda had followed up the drift, dinner was waiting, and after the mid-day meal had been bolted, orders rang out. “Right here’s where all hands and the cook draw fresh horses,” said Sargent, “and get into action. It’s a bulky herd, and cutting out will be slow. The cook and wrangler must hold the beeves, and that will turn the rest of us free to watch the round-up and cut out.”

  By previous agreement, in order to shorten the work, Joel was to cut out the remnant of double-wintered beeves, Manly the Lazy H’s, while Sargent and an assistant would confine their selections to the single-wintered ones in the —— Y brand. Each man would tally his own work, even car-loads were required, and a total would constitute the shipment. The cutting out began quietly; but after a nucleus of beeves were selected, their numbers gained at the rate of three to five a minute, while the sweat began to reek from the horses.

  Joel cut two car-loads of prime beeves, and then tendered his services to Sargent. The cattle had quieted, and a fifth man was relieved from guarding the round-up, and sent to the assistance of Manly. A steady stream of beef poured out for an hour, when a comparison of figures was made. Manly was limited to one hundred and twenty head, completing an even thousand shipped from the brand, and lacking four, was allowed to complete his number. Sargent was without limit, the object being to trim the general herd of every heavy, rough beef, and a tally on numbers was all that was required. The work was renewed with tireless energy, and when the limit of twenty cars was reached, a general conference resulted in cutting two loads extra.

  “That leaves the home cattle clean of rough stuff,” said Sargent, as he dismounted and loosened the saddle on a tired horse. “Any aged steers left are clean thrifty cattle, and will pay their way to hold another year. Turn the round-up adrift.”

  After blowing their horses, a detail of men drifted the general herd up the creek. Others lent their assistance to the wrangler in corralling his remuda, and after relieving the cutting horses, the beeves were grazed down the valley. The outfit had not spent a night at headquarters in some time, the wagon serving as a substitute, and orders for evening freed all hands except two men on herd with the beeves.

  The hurry of the day was over. On securing fresh horses, Joel and Sargent turned to the assistance of the detail, then drifting the main herd westward. The men were excused, to change mounts, and relieved from further duty until the guards, holding the beeves, were arranged for the night. The remnant of the herd was pushed up the creek and freed near Hackberry Grove, and on returning to overtake the beeves, the two horsemen crossed a spur of the tableland, jutting into the valley, affording a perfect view of the surrounding country.

  With the first sweep of the horizon, their horses were reined to a halt. Fully fifteen miles to the northeast, and in a dip of the plain, hung an ominous dust cloud. Both horsemen read the sign at a glance.

  Sargent was the first to speak. “Dell met the herd on the Republican,” said he with decision. “It’s the Stoddard cattle from Ogalalla. The pitch of their dust shows they’re trailing south.”

  The sign in the sky was read correctly. The smoke from a running train and the dust from a trailing herd, when viewed from a distance, pitches upward from a horizon line, and the moving direction of train or herd is easily read by an observant plainsman. Sargent’s summary was confirmed on reaching headquarters, where Dell and the trail foreman were found, the latter regaling Manly and others with the chronicle of the new trail.

  The same foreman as the year before was in charge of the herd. He protested against any step tending to delivery for that day, even to looking the cattle over. “Uncle Dud wouldn’t come,” said he, “and it’s up to me to make the delivery. I’ve been pioneering around all summer with this herd, and now that I’m my own boss, I’ll take orders from no one. We made rather a forced drive from the Republican, and I want a good night’s rest for both the herd and myself. Ten o’clock in the morning will be early enough to tender the cattle for delivery. In the mean time, our pilot, the red-headed clerk, will answer all questions. As for myself, I’m going to sleep in the new tent, and if any one calls or wakes me in the morning, I’ll get up and wear him out. I’ve lost a right smart of sleep this summer, and I won’t stand no trifling.”

  Joel fully understood that the object in delay was to have the herd in presentable condition, and offered no objection. The beeves were grazed up opposite headquarters, and the guards were arranged for the night, which passed without incident. Thereafter, as a matter of precaution, a dead-line must be maintained between the wintered and the through cattle; and as Manly was to remain another year, he and an assistant were detailed to stay at headquarters. A reduced mount of horses was allowed them, and starting the beeves at daybreak, the wagon and remuda followed several hours later.

  The trail foreman was humored in his wishes. It was nearly noon when the through herd was reached, grazed and watered to surfeiting, and a single glance satisfied Joel Wells that the cattle fully met every requirement. The question of age was disposed of as easily as that of quality.

  “We gathered this year’s drive on our home ranges,” said the foreman, “and each age was held separate until the herds were made up. I started with fifteen hundred threes and sixteen hundred twos, with ten head extra of each age, in case of loss on the trail. Our count on leaving Ogalalla showed a loss of twelve head. I’m willing to class or count them as they run. Manly knows the make-up of the herd.”

  Sargent and the brothers rode back and forth through the scattered cattle. It meant a big saving of time to accept them on a straight count, and on being rejoined by the foreman, Joel waived his intent to classify the cattle.

  “I bought this herd on Mr. Stoddard’s word,” said he, “and I’m going to class it on yours. String out your cattle, and you and Manly count against Sargent and myself.”

  A correct count on a large herd is no easy task. In trailing formation, the cattle march between a line of horsemen, but in the open the difficulty is augmented. A noonday sun lent its assistance in quieting the herd, which was shaped into an immense oval, and the count attempted. The four men elected to make the count cut off a number of the leaders, and counting them, sent them adrift. Thereafter, the trail outfit fed the cattle between the quartette, who sat their horses in speechless intensity, as the column filed through at random. Each man used a string, containing ten knots, checking the hundreds by slipping the knots, and when the last hoof had passed in review, the quiet of a long hour was relieved by a general shout, when the trail outfit dashed up to know the result.

  “How many strays have you?” inquired Sargent of the foreman, as the quartette rode together.

  “That’s so; there’s a steer and a heifer; we’ll throw them in for good measure. What’s your count?”

  “Minus the strays, mine repeats yours at Ogalalla,” answered Sargent, turning to Joel.

  “Thirty-one hundred and ten,” said the boy.

  The trail foreman gave vent to a fit of laughter. “Young fellow,” said he, “I never allow no man to outdo me in politeness. If you bought these cattle on my old man’s word, I want you to be safe in receiving them. We’ll class them sixteen hundred twos, and fifteen hundred threes, and any ove
rplus falls to the red-headed pilot. That’s about what Uncle Dud would call a Texas count and classification. Shake out your horses; dinner’s waiting.”

  There were a few details to arrange. Manly must have an assistant, and an extra man was needed with the shipment, both of whom volunteered from the through outfit. The foreman was invited to move up to headquarters and rest to his heart’s content, but in his anxiety to report to his employer, the invitation was declined.

  “We’ll follow up tomorrow,” said he, “and lay over on the railroad until you come in with our beeves. The next hard work I do is to get in touch with my Uncle Dudley.”

  “Look here—how about it—when may we expect you home?” sputtered Manly, as the others hurriedly made ready to overtake the beef herd.

  “When you see us again,” answered Joel, mounting his horse. “If this shipment strikes a good market, we may drop down to Trail City and pick up another herd. It largely depends on our bank account. Until you see or hear from us, hold the dead-line and locate your cattle.”

  CHAPTER XXII

  INDEPENDENCE

  The trail outfit reached the railroad a day in advance of the beeves. Shipping orders were sent to the station agent in advance, and on the arrival of the herd the two outfits made short shift in classifying it for market and corralling the different grades of cattle.

  Mr. Stoddard had been located at Trail City. Once the shipment was safely within the corral, notice was wired the commission firm, affording time for reply before the shipment would leave in the morning. An early call at the station was rewarded by receipt of a wire from the west. “Read that,” said the foreman, handing the telegram to Joel; “wants all three of us to come into the city.”

  “Of course,” commented Joel, returning the message. “It’s clear enough. There’s an understanding between us. At the earliest convenience, after the delivery of the herd, we were to meet and draw up the final papers. We’ll all go in with this shipment.”

  “And send the outfits across country to Trail City?”

  “Throw the remudas together and let them start the moment the cattle train leaves. We can go back with Mr. Stoddard and meet the outfits at the new trail market.”

  “That’s the ticket,” said the trail boss. “I’m dead tired of riding horses and eating at a wagon. Give me the plush cushions and let me put my little feet under a table once more.”

  The heavy cattle train was promised a special schedule. The outfits received their orders, and at the usual hour in the morning, the shipment started to market. Weathered brown as a saddle, Dell was walking on clouds, lending a hand to the shipper in charge, riding on the engine, or hungering for the rare stories with which the trail foreman regaled the train crew. The day passed like a brief hour, the train threading its way past corn fields, country homes, and scorning to halt at the many straggling villages that dotted the route.

  It was a red-letter day in the affairs of Wells Brothers. The present, their fifth shipment of the year, a total of over nineteen hundred beeves, was en route to market. Another day, and their operations in cattle, from a humble beginning to the present hour, could be condensed into a simple statement. The brothers could barely wait the intervening hours, and when the train reached the market and they had retired for the night, speculation ran rife in planning the future. And amid all their dreams and air castles, in the shadowy background stood two simple men whose names were never mentioned except in terms of loving endearment.

  Among their many friends, Quince Forrest was Dell’s hero. “They’re all good fellows,” he admitted, “but Mr. Quince is a prince. He gave us our start in cattle. Our debt to him—well, we can never pay it. And he never owned a hoof himself.”

  “We owe Mr. Paul just as much,” protested Joel. “He showed us our chance. When pa died, the settlers on the Solomon talked of making bound boys of us. Mr. Paul was the one who saw us as we are today.”

  “I wish mother could have lived to see us now—shipping beeves by the train-load—and buying cattle by the thousand.”

  An eager market absorbed the beeves, and before noon they had crossed the scale. A conference, jubilant in its nature, took place during the afternoon, in the inner office of the commission firm. The execution of a new contract was a mere detail; but when the chief bookkeeper handed in a statement covering the shipments of this and the previous year, a lull in the gayety was followed by a moment of intense interest. The account showed a balance of sixty-odd thousand dollars in favor of Wells Brothers!

  “Give them a letter of credit for their balance,” said Mr. Stoddard, amid the general rejoicing. “And get us some passes; we’re all going out to Trail City tonight. There’s a few bargains on that market, and the boys want to stock their range fully.”

  “Yours obediently,” said the old factor, beaming on his patrons. “And if the boys have any occasion to use any further funds, don’t hesitate to draw on us. The manner in which they have protected their credit entitles them to our confidence. Our customers come first. Their prosperity is our best asset. A great future lies before you boys, and we want a chance to help you reach it. Keep in touch with us; we may hear of something to your advantage.”

  “In case we need it, can you get us another permit to bring Texas cattle into Kansas?” eagerly inquired Joel.

  “Try us,” answered the old man, with a knowing look. “We may not be able to, but in securing business, railroads look years ahead.”

  A jolly party of cowmen left for Trail City that night. Morning found their train creeping up the valley of the Arkansas. The old trail market of Dodge, deserted and forlorn-looking among the wild sunflower, was passed like a way station. The new market was only a mile over the state line, in Colorado, and on nearing their destination the party drew together.

  “I’ve only got a remnant of a herd left,” said Mr. Stoddard, “and I want you to understand that there’s no obligation to even look at them. Mr. Lovell’s at his beef ranch in Dakota, and his men have not been seen since the herds passed north in June. But I’ll help you buy any cattle you want.”

  In behalf of the brothers, Joel accepted the offer. “These Texas cattle,” he continued, “reach their maturity the summer following their fourth year. Hereafter, as fast as possible, we want to shape up our holdings so as to double-winter all our beef cattle. For that reason, we prefer to buy two-year-olds. We’ll look at your remnant; there would be no occasion to rebrand, which is an advantage.”

  The train reached Trail City on time. The town was of mushroom growth—a straggling business street with fancy fronts, while the outer portions of the village were largely constructed of canvas. The Arkansas River passed to the south, numerous creeks put in to the main stream, affording abundant water to the herds on sale, while a bountiful range surrounded the market. Shipping pens, branding chutes, and every facility for handling cattle were complete.

  The outfits were not expected in for another day. In the mean time, it became rumored about that the two boys who had returned with Mr. Stoddard and his trail foreman were buyers for a herd of cattle. The presence of the old cowman threw a barrier of protection around the brothers, except to his fellow drovers, who were made acquainted with his protégés and their errand freely discussed.

  “These boys are customers of mine,” announced Mr. Stoddard to a group of his friends. “I sold them a herd at Dodge last year, and another at Ogalalla this summer. Range on the Beaver, in northwest Kansas. Just shipped out their last train of beeves this week. Had them on yesterday’s market. From what I gather, they can use about three thousand to thirty-five hundred head. At least their letter of credit is good for those numbers. Sorry I ain’t got the cattle myself. They naturally look to me for advice, and I feel an interest in the boys. Their outfit ought to be in by tomorrow.”

  Mr. Stoddard’s voucher placed the brothers on a firm footing, and every atten
tion was shown the young cowmen. An afternoon and a morning’s drive, and the offerings on the trail market had been carefully looked over, including the remnant of Mr. Stoddard. Only a few herds possessed their original numbers, none of which were acceptable to the buyers, while the smaller ones frequently contained the desired grade and age.

  “Let me put you boys in possession of some facts,” urged Mr. Stoddard, in confidence to the brothers. “Most of us drovers are tired out, disgusted with the slight demand for cattle, and if you’ll buy out our little remnants and send us home—well, we’d almost let you name the price. Unless my herds are under contract, this is my last year on the trail.”

  The remnant of Mr. Stoddard’s herd numbered around seven hundred head. They were largely twos, only a small portion of threes, and as an inducement their owner offered to class them at the lesser age, and priced them at the same figures as those delivered on the Beaver. On range markets, there was a difference in the selling value of the two ages, amounting to three dollars a head; and as one third of the cattle would have classed as threes, Joel waived his objection to their ages.

  “We’ll take your remnant on one condition,” said he. “Start your outfits home, but you hang around until we make up our herd.”

  “That’s my intention, anyhow,” replied Mr. Stoddard. “My advice would be to pick up these other remnants. Two years on a steer makes them all alike. You have seen cripple and fagged cattle come out of the kinks, and you know the advantage of a few cows; keeps your cattle quiet and on the home range. You might keep an eye open for any bargains in she stuff.”

  “That’s just what Jack Sargent says,” said Dell; “that we ought to have a cow to every ten or fifteen steers.”