DANGER IN THE EAST.

THE sun was no more than fairly above the horizon when the party were on the move, headed in the direction named. The expected norther did not come, the weather continuing as perfect as heart could wish. The uneven ground rendered the progress slow for a couple of hours, the horsemen being obliged to pick their way with care; but, by bearing to the right, better ground was reached, and they struck into an easy gallop which lasted for several hours.

“Strubell,” said Herbert, who with Nick was riding beside the Texan, the other being at the rear with the pack animals, “do you expect to find any use for that lasso?”

“You mean the lariat,” replied the cowboy, looking down at the rope coiled at his saddle; “can’t say, but Baker and I make it a rule to go prepared for business. We may strike a job in New Mexico, after taking a look at the ranch for Mr. Lord.”

“But you could get them there.”

“Of course, but I’ve used this for years, just as Baker has his, and we are so accustomed to them that we prefer to take them with us, just as you will soon grow to prefer your pony and your Winchester above all others.”

“When is the harvest time, as you may call it, for cattle?” asked Nick, who was always on the lookout for a chance to increase his store of knowledge.

“The spring; that’s when the big herds are put up for the drive, and that’s the season too, when the yearly round-up takes place.”

“What’s that for?”

“To apportion the unmarked calves and yearlings among the owners of stock on the range, so they can be branded.”

“I should think there would be a confusion of brands.”

“No; that can never happen, for the law requires the brand to be recorded in the county clerk’s office. It is generally the initials of the owner’s name, with perhaps some device to help distinguish it. The county clerk sees to it that no two are the same. But,” added the Texan, “the law compels every cattle owner to record also with the county clerk the ear-marks, crops, half-crops, upper and under bits, upper and under slopes, splits, swallow-forks, and jingle-bobs. When all this is done, the ranchman can identify his property as easily as you could pick out your own father in a crowd.”

“Suppose a lot of branded cattle are sold?” asked Nick.

“That seller is compelled to counterbrand them, and in case they are driven from the State, the buyer is obliged to road-brand them with a device different from his regular brand, and must record it in every county through which he passes.”

“I should think some of the cattle would become pretty well covered with brands.”

“So they do; after a few shiftings about, I have seen them so thickly branded that there seemed no place for anything new in that line. It doesn’t require many transfers to do this when the burned letters, as I have seen them, are nearly a foot long.”

“How is the branding done?”

“When convenient, the animal is driven between two parallel lines of fencing, called a chute, bars being placed before and behind him. He is then helpless, and the operator does the work at his leisure. But fences (except the wire kind that the big owners are stretching across the country) are scarce, and we generally have to go to the help of the brander.”

“How do you manage it?”

“Easily enough; slip about eight feet of the end of the lariat through the ring, and, putting a loop at the other end, over the pommel of the saddle, I gather the coils into my bridle hand, holding the noose in my right, and start my pony on a gallop. The animal that I want breaks into a run. I quickly get near enough to drop the noose over its head or fore feet, and the pony wheels the other way and braces himself for the shock that he knows is coming and which throws the animal to the ground. The minute he goes down, the branders seize him by the head and tail, and the hot iron does its work.”

“The operation must be painful,” suggested Herbert.

“Well,” replied Strubell, “I suppose the animal doesn’t enjoy it overmuch, but it isn’t so bad as many think, for the brander must take great care not to burn through the skin into the flesh.”

“What harm would be done by that?”

“The brand would be blotched, and a good many dishonest people would find an excuse for getting their brands mixed; but that isn’t the worst trouble,” added the cowboy, “for after the branding comes the blow-fly, which is the pest of Texas.”

“What is his style of working?”

“He deposits his eggs under the raw sore, and, before long, thousands of screw worms are eating their way toward the vitals of the animal.”

“What is done to check them?”

“We have different remedies, which only half do their work, but the best that I know of is cresylic ointment. In order to apply it, however, the animal must be roped and sometimes thrown down.”

“It looks as if the cowboy has more work than play in his business,” said Nick, with a laugh.

Strubell turned and stared at him a moment, as if pitying his ignorance.

“If you have any doubt about it, just try it for six months or a year. We spend most of our time in the saddle from daylight till dark. When on the trail, our diet is bacon, bread, and coffee, and not overmuch of that. I have gone twenty hours without a mouthful, for the simple reason that I hadn’t the time to ride to the cook wagon to get it. When one pony gave out, I jumped on another and rode him like a house afire.”

“What was the cause for such hard work?”

“Chiefly stampedes, which set the animals wild. When following the Old Cattle Trail, northward through Texas and Kansas, I have had five thousand cattle scattered to every point of the compass by a thunder-storm, despite all we could do to keep them together. Sometimes they become crazy for water, start bellowing on a full run, and crowd into the first stream so fast that a hundred or two are drowned; then, when the night is still and no air stirring, nor the slightest cause, so far as you can see, exists for alarm, something will set them off again. The only explanation that I could ever think of was that the animals are troubled now and then with bad dreams, and by their cavorting frighten the others out of their wits.”

“They must be guarded carefully at night?”

“Certainly; our men are divided into three reliefs, which makes it a little harder than we have it now. When the stampede breaks out, the riders have no let up night or day till the cattle are brought together again. Then, too, the Kiowas or Comanches may take it into their heads to try a little cattle speculation. They are all fine horsemen and rifle-shots, and a half dozen of the scamps can make things as lively on a dark night as a nest of hornets. However, we like it for all that,” said the Texan, “because it’s the only business we know; but these big cattle owners, that are fencing in most of Texas with their barbed wire, will soon take it away from us.”

At this juncture, Lattin touched his pony with his spur, and placed him alongside the others.

“I wish,” said he, “that you would p’int that machine of yours off there to the east, and let us know what you make of it.”

His outstretched arm showed the direction named, and his friends naturally turned their attention toward that point of the compass. They were on the plain, where the grass grew plentifully, the hilly portions being in sight several miles to their left.

Before the field glass was called into use, all saw, seemingly in the very rim of the horizon, several horsemen moving apparently over a course parallel with their own, since Lattin said they had been in sight for nearly an hour, and were neither more nor less distinct than when first observed.

The glasses were passed from one to the other, and the parties were closely studied. The instruments were of great help, giving to our friends a knowledge which otherwise they could not have obtained.

All agreed that there were three horsemen, and that one, possibly two, were white men. The third might have belonged to the same race, but, for some cause, the Texans declared that he was a half-breed, known as Jim-John, one of the worst rogues in the Southwest.

“If you know him,” said Nick, “you ought to know the others.”

“So I do,” quietly replied Strubell; “one is Bell Rickard, that you introduced to us last night. They’re a bad lot, and we’re bound to have trouble with them before morning.”

Little did the sagacious Texan suspect the startling manner in which his words were to be verified.