Clarence Edward Mulford

RANGE ACTIVITIES

On the day following Johnny's message to Big Tom, Gunsight had awakened expectant, and had remained so all the morning, but to no end. Not a Bar H man had come in, so far as they knew, and the trio in Dave's changed from the belief each had retired with and discussed the situation from a different point of view.

"Big Tom is a wise ol' owl," said Dailey. "He'll move when he gets ready. Just now he's on a nest, hatchin' out somethin' that is mebby tender, bein' so young. He ain't layin' down so easy. I know him."

"He reckons, mebby, that th' man that dealt th' hands has got an ace in a hole," replied Fanning. "It's an old sayin' that you never want to buck another man's game. I don't know that Nelson has got an ace laid away, but he don't have to have any; Big Tom figgers he has, mebby, because them Double X hombres are so friendly with him; an' it's what Big Tom thinks that counts with him. Mebby somethin' will happen today, an' mebby it won't; but it's goin' to happen, just th' same, some time."

"I'm favorin' th' ace idea," said Dave, thoughtfully. "If I was Big Tom I'd be plumb suspicious of any man that made th' suggestion that Nelson made when he knew there was an outfit ag'in' him. I'd figger he was either a cussed fool or knowed just exactly what he was doin', an' all th' time. Nobody down here believes that he is a fool, not now, anyhow; an' I'm dead shore he wasn't bluffin'. He's got an ace, all right—an' I'm admirin' Big Tom's waitin' game. When he thinks he's figgered out how far th' Double X will go we'll hear his answer. Besides, th' Bar H has got to round up an' brand that herd for McCullough. That may be holdin' him back some."

"Slim's remarks slid in like they was made to fit," commented Dailey. "An' he wasn't bluffin', neither. If th' Double X is backin' Nelson, all th' way, he'll win; if they ain't, he won't. But I'm shore waitin' to see, an' hear."

Down on the Bar H dinner was over before the foreman had much to say, and he was careful not to reveal his personal experiences of the morning. He counseled patience, and gave good reasons for it. They had until fall to start on the SV herd, and many things could, and would, occur before then. The first thing to do was to get ready for the round-up of the trail herd, and in order to lull suspicions they would not work on the tabooed section. There was to be no branding done out there, and in order to show their fairness in not too noticeable a way, they would help the Triangle with its five hundred head. This over with, the Triangle punchers would have to hold the herd together until McCullough came along and, not being able to call on them for aid, the Bar H would have to appeal to the Double X for the loan of some of its men, who thus would be on the ground and see what cattle were to be cut out for the trail. Nelson was to be ignored until the herd was sold and the money put in the bank at Sherman, after which he would be taken care of.

"Nelson is a good man," Big Tom assured them; "but he ain't good enough not to never make mistakes, an' no man can take every trick. He's goin' to miss one, th' last he'll ever miss, or win, for that matter, but there ain't no use of any of us gettin' killed unless we have to. We can get him without it, an' without gettin' any of his sudden new friends on th' prod. I promise that. I know how we're goin' to play it—an' it's so easy it makes me laugh. He's a good man; but there are older heads than his'n. You foller my orders an' set tight. I'll handle this when th' time comes, an' it ain't here yet. Stay out of Gunsight unless you can go in peaceful, keep yore mouths tight shut, an' stay sober. I've said enough about him.

"Now, we got work ahead of us, an' we start at it on th' Triangle day after tomorrow. I'm goin' over to see Hank Lewis now. There'll be somebody from Twitchell an' Carpenter comin' up any day now to select th' cattle an' stay with 'em till McCullough counts 'em into his herd. After I see Hank I'm ridin' to town to leave word at Dave's for Sherwood to see if I can borrow some of his boys when we start our own round-up. Look over yore gear an' be ready for workin'."

His prophecy regarding the representatives of Twitchell and Carpenter was fulfilled at mid-afternoon, when two strangers rode up to the bunkhouse and inquired for him and, being told that he could very likely be found in town, they explained who they were and rode on to Gunsight, accompanied by Fraser. To the saddle of each were fastened three stamping irons bearing their road brand.

Big Tom was in Dave's when they arrived and after a few rounds of drinks they settled down to discuss the herds and range topics in general.

"Th' T an' C sendin' many over th' trails this year?" Dave asked during a lull in the talk.

"Shore," replied the older and taller visitor, who answered to the name of Ridley. "We've been busy since winter. We looked over a big herd of beeves south of th' Grande for th' first herd. There was over thirty-five hundred head and they was three- an' four-year-olds. They went up north of th' Yellowstone, on government contract. Another herd of three thousand two- an' three-year-olds went past th' Platte, bound west for new ranges. There was two more big herds went up to Dodge—one of 'em bein' sold without th' new owners even seein' 'em. This bunch is goin' to new range north of here, some of 'em. I don't reckon there'll be many more this year. There ain't an animal in them that McCullough's bringin' up that's more than two years old, an' those are th' ones goin' to range. We took 'em from four different ranches to get 'em choice, an' they're all long-laigged long-horns an' a purty sight to a cowman. I'm bettin' Mac won't lose a single head neither. He's a trail boss that is a trail boss. He knows every river an' ford, water hole an' dry section from here to Montanny. He took that first herd north this spring, an' here he is back in time to swing this drive. He has a knack of pickin' good men for his trail outfits, an' he's daddy to 'em all from th' jump, without nobody knowin' it."

Big Tom arose. "Well, friends," he said, shaking hands, "yo're welcome to stay at either ranch while yo're here; but I reckon Fanning can make you more comfortable. We start on th' Triangle day after tomorrow—come down when you get ready. I told you how to get to th' Double X. If you go over there before any of 'em come to town, let 'em know that I'm countin' on usin' three of their men when I start my own round-up. See you later."

Dawn found activity on the range. The Double X, having rounded up its hundred head the day before, with a few additional to make up for possible rejections, held them apart from the SV herd, which also had extra cattle to offset any not up to the required standard. The majority of them, those which were certain to be accepted, had already been branded. The C and T inspectors watched the cutting out and indicated their choices as the cattle left the round-up herd, those rejected being turned aside and allowed to go back to freedom on the range, while those accepted were driven to the beef cut, which grew rapidly. A hundred and five finally were accepted, the odd five to make up for possible losses on the trail. Then the SV herd went through the same proceeding until four hundred and ten had been thrown into the beef cut. Because of Cimarron's discriminating judgment in making up the herd there were but few rejections; and, besides, the standard was not high, for, broadly, a cow was a cow. The remaining SV cattle were not returned to their ranch, but were set free to wander where they would. The general round-up would find them later and throw them back then if Arnold wished, although with the coming of the new round-up conditions there would be no great reason to throw them over—the brand would protect his interests, no matter where it was found. There was some talk about the SV cattle, but Johnny was credited as representing Arnold, and the matter was settled by agreeing that the T and C should pay Arnold, direct. Then the road branding began, and when it was over the consolidated herd was held to await the arrival of McCullough. It was then that Sherwood turned to three of his men.

"Th' Triangle ain't asked for no help, but you boys go down an' give 'em a hand," he said. "We're introducin' th' comin' of th' general round-up out in this country, an' we're doin' it gradual. There won't be no thought of us watchin' out for Arnold's interests over there, because these inspectors will do that anyhow. Go down an' show that we're friendly; an' from there go to th' Bar H."

On the Triangle the following morning things were running in full blast. After a breakfast eaten by firelight, the outfit was in the saddle at the first flush of dawn, and rode far out on the range. At an agreed-upon point it spread out in a thin line, the riders spaced at irregular intervals, depending upon the nature of the ground, and as they turned and moved back in the direction of Rock Creek they were joined by the Bar H contingent, which took up its position on one end of the line.

Draws, brush, and coulees shed cattle before the advance. A cow with a big, husky, and friskily independent calf arose to its feet and looked wonderingly at the disturbance. Gardner espied her and galloped forward, shouting and waving his hat as he rode. "G'wan, you! Get goin'!"

The cow stood irresolute, debating between the lessons of experience and her own wishes, and the pugnacious counseling of her indignant offspring. Deciding in favor of the former, she wheeled and moved away, the rebellious calf protesting by kicking up its heels and by the defiant erectness of its tail.

"Th' devil you say!" grinned Gardner, watching them depart. "Yo're big enough to be weaned, you overgrown baby—an' yo're shore goin' to be, for yore ma's goin' north."

Out of a clump of brush popped a group of two-year-olds, heads up, curious and mildly frightened. They stood defiant until Gardner was nearly upon them, and then his sudden whoop sent them whirling and off toward Rock Creek, discretion overbalancing valor. He gave them no further thought, for they would continue to travel unless crowded too much, and he was too old a hand to do that. A cow with a dogie he let slip through, pity joining hands with common sense in their behalf. It was not his purpose to bother with sickly, stunted youngsters, nor to take from them the maternal care so necessary to their sense of security.

By this time the outpouring of cattle had put a respectable number in front of him, and as others were routed out they more willingly went forward, for the gregarious spirit urged them to join the little herd. Occasionally one having more spirit than the others would wheel around and attempt to escape, but in all instances, except one, the speedy dash of the trained cow-horse headed them off and sent them on the about-face. The exception was a five-year-old steer, crusty and sullen, his hide bearing mute witness to his combativeness. He planted himself on rigid legs, lowered his sweeping horns and without even a grunt of warning charged straight for the watchful horseman.

"Blasted mosshead," muttered Sam, avoiding the rush, and watching some of the cattle which had turned to see how the affair came out before making up their minds to duplicate it. Too old for the drive, Sam would have let him go, except for the bad effect it might have on the rest of the cattle, and except for his own aroused spirit. He swung his rope and it darted up and out, and caught a hind leg of the "mosshead" as the pony settled back. There was a blur of over-turning steer, a bellow of rage, injury, and surprise, and a resounding thump. Riding forward and taking up the slack as he went, Sam suddenly took two quick turns of the rope around his pommel, checked the horse, and grinned. Down went the mosshead again with another thump, and before the animal could get on its feet the rope was slipped off his leg, and when he arose he found himself alone. Gardner had seen the waverers start back to freedom and had to leave the craggy fighter to check a catastrophe. Hard riding won out for him and again he went forward. Several weaners shot out of a draw and took great credit to themselves for outwitting the puncher; but Sam saw no use of collecting infants only to have them turned loose at the cut-out. One cow arose, spread its feet apart and moved its low-held head slowly from side to side. He gave it a pitying glance and let it alone. "Locoed," he muttered, and as he spoke it shied at a weed swaying in the wind and went cautiously around it. There came a sudden bellowing ahead and he dashed forward at the pair of bulls who were pawing streams of dirt into the air as they met in the dust cloud, head on, and locked for the fight, their great, muscular backs bowed under the power of straining legs. This was no time for masculine duels and he broke it up with quirt and hat, driving the testy combatants apart and sending them on their ways. Dust arose over the moving herd, under which was turmoil, confusion, the lowing of cows, and the bawling of calves; but it rolled steadily westward, slowly but surely. A rattler coiled swiftly and launched its venomous, dart-shaped head at the horse, which reared up with a snort of terror. Sam, stirred to sudden anger and recklessness, spurned a gun, and leaned over as the horse dropped to all four feet. His quirt whizzed viciously and a headless, splotched body writhed in the dust.

"I'm purty bad, myself, when I'm riled," he told it, and rode on. Shortly afterward a gray streak flashed from a heavy bit of brush, and Sam's Colt leaped into action, but in vain. The coyote punched a hole in the air and disappeared almost as though it had shrunk into nothing. He grinned: "That slug will catch you when you stop, less'n you turns out," he said.

Rock Creek coming into view, the long line of horsemen became a crescent, the ends moving forward at the center slowed, and soon a circle of riders held the herd on all sides. It slowed, grew compact, and stopped, shifting like a kaleidoscope, the different colors weaving in and out like patches of some animated, changing crazy-quilt. There was good grass here, plenty of water, and no more urging riders. Calves went bawling their panicky ways in frantic search for lost mothers, butting and worrying through the herd, receiving rebuffs and impersonal chastisements as they disturbed their elders. One stood outside the press and bawled like a spoiled child, its defiant tail as high as its sinewy neck and more erect. There came an answering call from the herd and a frantic mother shot out, nosed the squaller, and then both grew instantly silent, contented, and at peace with the turbulent world.

"G'wan back!" ordered Lefferts, grinning from ear to ear. "I'm sayin' that it's a great thing to have a ma, you bellerin' cry-baby."

The round-up had taken less time than had been expected and it was decided to go ahead with the cutting out. The riders took turns in going to the horse wrangler's flimsy rope corral, made by lariats strung from the wheels of the chuck wagon to the pommels of saddles on the backs of old, docile, and well-trained horses. Selecting from their best cutting-out animals, saddles were hastily changed, a quick meal eaten, and then the men rode back to the herd to relieve others, who duplicated the performance. The herd was gently made more compact so as to cover less ground and need fewer riders to loaf in their saddles and hold it, the inspectors rode out in front of it and the cutters-out went to work, trying to pick from the outer fringe of cattle. Cows and steers lumbered from the press and went either to the beef cut, or to freedom, according to the signal of the inspector. Quickly the round-up herd shrunk and the beef cut grew. At first there was some trouble to get the chosen cattle to leave the herd—they tried to rejoin it; but as the beef cut grew it drew more and more until it was hardly more than necessary to start the individual cattle for it. When night fell the original herd had disappeared, its more fortunate units ranging free upon the ranch. The beef cut, allowed to graze and not bothered more than necessary, was headed for a rise, where in due time it bedded down and prepared to spend a quiet, peaceful night.

A passer-by would have come upon a picturesque scene on the banks of Rock Creek that night. The cook's fire, blazing high, was surrounded by the men off watch, squatted, seated, or reclining as they swapped stories and told jokes. The chuck wagon was magnified and made grotesque by the firelight and shadows, saddled horses tied to it or picketed a short distance away, and the flimsy rope corral running from wagon wheels to stakes driven in the ground, was ready to hold a change of mounts in case of a sudden need. In the distance was the bedded herd, lying on the top of a rise where it could catch any passing breeze, the cattle chewing their cuds and blowing and grunting contentedly.

A yearling bummed among them, filled with the mischievous deviltry of youth, making life miserable for its elders as it stumbled and butted its erratic way. It left a fight or two in its wake and finally fled, abandoning all dignity when a crusty steer arose to chastise it. But the chip on its shoulder remained there until it tried to butt a calf from its warm bed, whereupon the indignant mother scrambled to all fours and sent the disturber on the run for safety. The calf was there because it bore no brand, which would be taken care of on the morrow. The bummer had no excuse to create any trouble over a warmed bed because the night was warm. Finally, the edge gone from its exuberant deviltry, it began to look for a place to sleep—and after barely escaping several thrashings it worked out of the herd and sought a place by itself, doubtless to ruminate upon the cruelties and indignities endured by yearlings.

The four night riders of the first shift went slowly, lazily around the herd, keeping a score or more yards from it, singing and carrying on chanted conversations as they met and passed each other. Gone was the dust and turmoil of the day and in its place had come rest and quiet. Over all the crescent moon, nightly to grow fuller, worked its alchemy on earth and cattle, shedding its soft silvery light. The distant camp fire grew steadily lower and finally glowed like the end of a great cigar, winking as gentle breezes fanned its embers and passed on. Somewhere out on the silvery range a lonely coyote poured a burbling plaint to the moon and passed on like a shadow in search of food to stop the clamoring ache of an empty stomach, gradually approaching the winking fire, where choice titbits might perhaps be found.

"I want a big chew of tobacco," chanted Gardner, as he drew nearer to Reilly, "An' I want it bad, for mine's all gone."

"It allus is," sang Reilly. "Don't bother that spotted yearlin' over by them bushes. He's finally quit his bummin' an' has bedded down all by hisself outside th' herd. You'll know where he is even if you went blind. He's real friendly an' lonesome, an' likes to converse with everythin' that passes."

"I know th' scamp," sang Gardner, returning the plug. "He's had one gosh-awful time today keepin' out of a lickin'. I'm sayin' he earned a dozen." Soon he made out Lefferts' song, who mourned a long-lost love.

Gardner was stirred by the melody and burst into song out of sympathy:

Lefferts retaliated promptly:

From across the herd came Reilly's natural tenor, a little ragged, but still a tenor:

The song was too much for the coyote, and he paused to yield to the craving for harmony reawakened in him.

"He's imitatin' you, Jim," chanted Gardner as he passed Lefferts. "Which same I says is well done."

"Go to th' devil, an' join yore tribe," sang Jim in delicate repartee, and forthwith began the mournful lay of Clementine:

At half-past eleven Gardner rode in to the wagon, aroused the next shift, sought his blankets and was sound asleep before his three shift companions reached the camp. At three o'clock the second shift was relieved by the third, and last, which would stay with the herd until it was taken over by all the others, after breakfast.

The new day brought further developments. Several fires burned not far from the herd, irons projecting from them. The cattle were again cut out and driven away to a new herd, one by one, but this time they were taken close to the fires, and because of their weight and strength two ropers joined in the efforts of branding each animal. The glowing iron bit deeply through hair and into the skin on the left flank, filling the air with bellowing anguish, surprise, and indignation, and the odors of burning hair and flesh. There were fights, balkings, charges, but the hard-working, hard-riding punchers, the deftly cast ropes, and the trained horses, together with waving hats and an occasional revolver shot close to the nose of refractory, pugnacious bulls, and an occasional waved slicker or coat, won out, and the work proceeded at a good pace in spite of the general and apparent confusion. But whatever aspect of confusion there was, very little really existed except among the victims themselves, for the men proceeded along well-established lines, and the work went on as though it were running in a groove. Horses were changed every hour or two, depending upon the rider's judgment, and the inspectors, with the Triangle foreman, checked off the branded animals as they joined the road-branded herd. This herd grew rapidly and its guards were increased as needed from the ropers and iron men at they became too tired to hold the pace set. All day long the busy scene continued in the dust and the heat of the sun, with a bedlam of noise, an endless weaving and shifting, with lathered horses, sweat-and-dust-grimed riders, shouts of "Hot iron! Hot iron!" "Tally one!" "Ropers up!" and cries of warning and bursts of laughter. It were well that the Double X had sent three men to help; ten would not have been too many. Even with their help there was only one pair of ropers working at the fires and only three cutters-out, the rest being used to hold the two herds of restless cattle; and when night finally put an end to the operations less than half of the trail herd had been branded.

"Two more days," growled an inspector. "It's time you fellers throwed this worn-out, ancient way aside, an' got up even with th' times. You can build a chute that'll hold eight head an' by usin' stampin' irons you can turn out from sixty to eighty, yes, sometimes even a hundred, an hour, after you get th' hang of it. This handful should 'a' been done by noon. If I was you, Huff," he said, turning to the Bar H foreman, "I'd get on th' jump an' make a couple of them chutes, an' lay in half a dozen irons. One iron will do two or three with one heatin'; sometimes, if th' iron handlers work fast, two irons will stamp th' whole eight. You'll laugh when you see 'em comin' out, all branded, eight to a clip; an' th' work ain't near so hard. There ain't no holdin', nor ropin', nor throwin'. Here we've toted half a dozen Question Mark irons up here, an' they ain't hardly saved us any time. You've got plenty of time to put up a chute before we start on yore thousand—if you don't, we'll be a week on 'em, an' a week's too long."

His companion nodded emphatically, and offered to superintend the work. "Ridley can handle th' tallyin' for us out here. They've all been selected, an' comin' as slow as they do, it ain't no two-man job. Mebby th' Double X will lend a couple more men to help—they're finishin' a pair of chutes up there, an' know what's wanted. What you say about it?"

Big Tom considered, and grudgingly gave his consent. Gus Thompson, tired as he was, volunteered to go to his ranch with the request, and started as soon as he had eaten. And by the night of the second day following, when the road-branded Triangle herd was being held to await the coming of McCullough, two eight-cow chutes were ready on the Bar H for the handling of its thousand head.

The round-up on the Bar H went forward with a swing and when it came time for the road branding the chutes proved their worth. The cattle, driven up in groups of eight, were forced into the long, narrow boxes as fast as the branded group went out at the other end. A bar dropped past the nose of the leader, and another bar dropped behind the last one in. Two men standing on a platform running along the side of the chute, each was handed a freshly heated iron and hurried from animal to animal, stamping the brand on each in turn. All morning the long chutes filled and emptied, the men changing places as they tired, the iron handlers so bothered by the stinging odor of burning hair that none of them worked longer than two or three hours without being relieved.

"I'm backin' this here magazine-action brandin' with a hundred an' fifty pounds of fightin' Irish," declared Reilly, chuckling at the almost automatic working of the chutes. "Eight in, stamped an' out again while we'd be workin' on one slippery cuss. Seventy th' last hour for Sam's chute, an' Fraser crowdin' him close; an' us tenderfeet at it—I'm bettin' th' last hour does ninety to th' chute. We're gettin' th' hang of it, an' gettin' it fast."

"Slippin' along like water down hill," laughed Slim, borrowed from his bed and board to help the Bar H. "Hey, Ridley!" he called to the busy inspector, "got any new-fangled improvements that'll make these chutes do it themselves, so th' hard-workin' punchers won't have to loaf in their saddles, but can set around an' gamble? Holy Maverick! Look at him tallyin'! He's shore workin' harder than he was yesterday."

"Who's loafin', you fool?" snorted Sam, taking breath while the chute was being refilled. "I've stamped close to eight thousand since I climbed up here, an'—Hot iron! Hot iron!" he yelled as the front bar dropped. "Wake up, you tramp!"

"You've got a lot to say, you has!" snapped Lefferts, running up with the irons. "All you got to do is push 'em ag'in' their hides—I'm near wore out!"

"Why use any bars at all?" queried Reilly, grinning at the hard-working Sam. "Just let 'em filter through, stamping 'em on th' run. We're wastin' time, this way."

"You've got near as much sense as Sam has!" retorted Lefferts, stirring his fire. "Which ain't payin' neither of you no compliments," he grunted.

Big Tom could not deny the advantage of chute and stamping irons, and the ocular demonstration took from him his last reasonable objection to them, although he found fault with them because the herd had to be driven to the same place each round-up, and because he did not believe them to be suitable for calf branding; but when it was pointed out that the cattle had to be driven somewhere before the herd would be worth bothering with, and might as well be driven to the chutes, and that it would be a saving of time to do that, or to build more chutes on the ranch rather than to revert to the old methods, he could not deny it. Regarding the branding of calves there was a division of opinion; but calf branding was not nearly as hard or slow as the branding of grown animals. He knew, however, that the styles were changing, and changing under his eyes, and that for him to become stubborn and set against the change would be to appear ridiculous, and to become a source from which much levity would spring.

The branding done and the tallies compared, the visiting punchers departed for their ranches, the inspectors accepting Big Tom's invitation to spend the night with him, and rode to the ranchhouse; and the herd, restless, sore, and in sullen mood, was watered well at the muddy pond and thrown upon the high bed ground, and would remain a herd until delivered to McCullough, and for some weeks thereafter.