Читать книгу The Ranch on the Beaver - Andy Adams - Страница 5

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The winter outfit numbered eight all told. In addition to those already mentioned were two brothers, Bob and Verne Downs, who were stationed at headquarters. They were utility men, either one of whom could cook, wrangle horses, take out a wagon, or make a hand in the saddle. They had proved themselves on the trip up from Trail City and at the isolation camp in the sand-hills, where the last herd was held in voluntary quarantine. Dale Quinlin had come in with the same cattle, while Reel Hamlet had been dropped early in the fall with the Stoddard herd. All four were valuable additions to the line-riders of the previous winter.

Joel and Bob Downs would ride from headquarters, though the other two knew the lines equally well. Substitutes might be called for, as Manly had reports to send out or mail was expected, while some one must visit the ranches on the Republican River to the north. For mutual advantage cowmen were forming local associations, and with the increased number of cattle on the Beaver, the brothers were awake to the importance of protecting their every interest. By thus joining with some valid organization, which published an annual pass-book, giving a list of its members, the location of their, ranges and brands in detail, the members would be mutually protected. No animal could drift so far but a comparison of pass-books, represented in a national association, would reveal its owner.

One evening, near the close of November, Dell and Sargent rode into headquarters from the north. The latter, when crossing the divide, reined in his horse and voiced the belief that he had scented smoke. On reaching the ranch, a general inquiry among those afield that afternoon failed to confirm the report.

‘It was a vagrant breeze,’ admitted the foreman. ‘Still there is no mistaking the smell of burning grass. Hunting parties in the sand-dunes may have been careless with fire. Or some fool might have set the prairie afire just to see it burn.’

Joel tensed rigid at the report. ‘North on the Republican they burn fire-guards to protect the range,’ mused the boy. ‘If the Beaver Valley was to burn—’

‘There’s a world of dry grass to the west, frost-killed into tinder,’ continued Sargent. ‘Let’s ride out on the divide after dark.’

Nightfall confirmed the danger. Under a low horizon the harbinger was marked on a wide front, a mere glow in places, but clearly distinct on the flanks. The distance was unknown, but the night air was tainted with the fumes of burning prairie.

‘Joe,’ Inquired the foreman, on returning, ‘how are you on fighting a prairie fire? Wear any medals?’

‘I’m the best what am,’ answered Manly. ‘Lead me to it.’

‘You’re there now. This outfit moves at daybreak to fight fire.’

‘You mean back-fire?’

‘Of course; back-fire against the big blaze.’

A general consultation followed. There was permanent water in the Beaver, several miles above The Wagon, an outpost established the winter before, where a camp could be located. The remuda must be taken along, a commissary outfitted, as if it were the beef-shipping season. An old plough was unearthed, the mowing machine was called into service, with water barrels in each wagon.

‘Lucky thing that our corn is all freighted in,’ said Joel. ‘How many sacks shall we take along?’

‘Only enough for two teams, say three days’ supply,’ answered Sargent. ‘By that time the fire will beat us, or we will beat it. Nothing but backfiring or a heavy rain can stop the flames.’

‘And here’s where you young fellows can cut out sleeping altogether,’ said Manly. ‘When you fight fire, you don’t sleep any until it’s all over. Hardly worth while taking blankets along.’

A restless night passed. Fortunately the teams were in hand, and an hour before daybreak two wagons moved up the valley under emergency orders.

Dell took the lead. ‘Follow the old wood road to Hackberry Grove,’ urged the foreman. ‘Touch at The Wagon and lighten ship of the corn. We’ll bring the guns and everything else that’s overlooked. Shake out your mules; unless this range is saved, you have no other use for teams. Roll those wagon wheels.’

Dawn came begrudgingly. Heavy smoke-clouds, hanging low, filled the Beaver Valley, somber as a shroud. The remuda was even difficult to locate in the uncertain light of early morning.

It was an odd cavalcade that moved out from headquarters. Two carried axes and a third a scythe, while rolls of gunny-sacks were tied to every saddle cantle. The entire remuda, over a hundred strong, was taken along. Not a man was left behind.

‘We’re off!’ sang out Sargent, swinging into the saddle. ‘We don’t know where we’re going, but we’re on our way. You lads with the axes shake out your horses and skirmish some wood at the Grove for camping. Don’t spare your horses, because the remuda will be right at your heels. Jingle your spurs.’

Nothing but the fear of fire would have justified the pace. The axemen were lost to sight before the saddle horses could be swung into action. Three horsemen whirled their ropes at the rear and along the flanks of the flying squadron. Calves sprang from their beds in the tall grass and fled, followed by frantic mothers. The older cattle, sedate in manner, beheld the apparition with wonder, stood firm or turned tail, distance governing, while the bulls bellowed their defiance. Surely a strange disturbance in a peaceful valley!

The wagons were overtaken at the Grove. Joel and the foreman pushed on to select a camp above. The Wagon, a former camp, was passed without a glance. Pools were known to exist up the creek, though one month was no guarantee for another, and water, in quantity, was essential to the work in hand.

A known pool — a long pond — afforded the required water. The site was only a mile above the old line-camp. The two scouts dismounted from badly spent mounts and slackened cinches.

‘I want Manly’s idea of the plans,’ said Sargent. ‘If we can burn a lane to the sand-dunes, and north to the divide between here and the Republican, it ought to check the course of the fire. So much depends on the wind fanning the oncoming flames. It might jump a mile in a strong wind and be unable to cross a ploughed furrow in a calm or in damp grass. With any breeze, a prairie fire runs wild during afternoon and evening hours.’

Joel admitted that to him fighting fire was an unknown task. ‘We used to notice fires in the spring, north and south, but never in the west in the fall. Jack, I want you to take full charge.’

‘Burning the range in the spring is a good idea. It gives the cattle fresh grass. I wish Manly would make haste.’

‘If I catch your idea,’ bluntly said the boy, ‘backfiring means to burn against a fire beyond control.’

‘That’s it. Meet it, burn into it, against the wind. Widen the breach, if possible, miles wide, but hold your back-fire safely under control. For that reason we must burn by night, widen the burnt lane, keeping your own fire in hand. If Manly agrees, we’ll start our back-fire from this pond. We don’t need this range this winter, and it will give us early grass.’

Manly rode up in advance of the others. The foreman’s plans were adopted. ‘You and Joel take the plough and work south into the sand-hills, and I’ll take the mower and work out toward the divide. Cut the ground into sections, from a quarter to a half-mile in length, and leave the last mile unburnt. Never let your fire get away from you on the flanks. Give us two or three days and we’ll know where we stand.’

Camp was made. The men were divided into two squads. The mules were refreshed and things set in readiness. Both crews would work out from the same camp, at least for the first day and night. The one who best knew the work led the way, the others eagerly attentive.

The foreman took charge to the north, assisted by the Downs brothers, while Dell brought up the rear with horses under saddle. Old hand hay rakes cleared outward, to be burnt later, the swath of the mower’s sweep. At first, at every few hundred yards a notch was cut to the depth of a few rods, on the side where later the torch would be applied. By firing the indent first, the flames would feed in various directions, presenting an uneven front.

The work was slow and tedious. On the one hand lay the home range, on the other a menace of desolation, admitting of no hasty or uncertain step. Where the grass grew rankly as many as three swaths were cut down in forming the base of the fire-line.

‘I’m cropping the grass to its roots,’ said Sargent to his helpers. ‘Rake the ground to the last straw, and we can whip out any loose fire in the stubble. Dell, tramp down those heavy fronts of sedge and blue-stem with your saddle horses. Tramp it down for a full rod, so the fire will feed slowly. Slight nothing, lads, if we expect to take the wagons home.’

By early evening, the foreman had laid a deadline of fully five miles, while the plough had gathered a double furrow of nearly the same distance to the south. Mounting their horses, both crews hastened back to camp, where hunger was satisfied for the moment and fresh mounts secured.

‘What’s the word?’ inquired Manly, as every possible straw of the situation was carefully thrashed over.

‘We ought to get a lull in the wind between sunset and dark,’ suggested Sargent. ‘The sun will set in a few minutes. This breeze is a trifle strong for narrow base-lines. Fill the canteens and soak the gunny-sacks. Everything that is worth while, and will burn, should be in the wagons. Joel, suppose you hang around camp for half an hour, and, in case the fire jumps the dead-line on us, run these wagons over on the burnt ground. You can snake them out of danger from the pummel of your saddle. Now, that’s about all, except to apply the torch.’

Every man awaited the word with impatience. The older men walked through the heavy grass; it crushed brittle in their hands and fairly crunched underfoot.

‘There ought to be moisture in the air within an hour,’ suggested Manly.

‘Not unless the wind falls,’ answered the foreman. ‘This is some dry country. Feel the heat in this dry grass.’

‘She’s lulling,’ announced Dell. ‘Can’t you feel it?’

Still the word was withheld. Sargent walked up the dead-line alone, but hurriedly returned.

‘Fire the margins of the pond first and apply the torch north and south,’ said he quietly. ‘Try and make it back to the wagons by daybreak. Keep your horses safely in hand.’

Matches flashed at the word and tiny flames sprang up. The men had wrapped torches of long grass, could make others as needed, and the backfire opened promisingly.

A lazy breeze lingered. ‘Just enough air to make it feed greedily,’ observed the foreman, who had remained with Joel at the camp. ‘We ought to burn a fire-guard a mile wide to-night. Your side is burning like the flame of a lamp; mine is lapping it up in eddies.’

He mounted his horse. ‘These boys of mine are liable to overrun the trail, like young hounds. I must overtake them. Your men have old heads.’

Within an hour the back-fire was a mile wide. By midnight it had covered a front of over five times that distance, a slight semicircle, eating in slowly.

Late in the night, Sargent called his boys together. ‘We’ve burnt our limit,’ he announced. ‘We have barely a mile yet of dead-line cleared. It will take several hours to get the team back on the job. Let’s double-team and burn a second and third counter-line, a quarter of a mile apart, entirely back to the creek. Fire it just wide enough so that it will consume itself before morning or before the sun rises to-morrow. Wrap up a gunny-sack full of torches so we won’t have to dismount. Notice the fire to the west; ten or twenty miles nearer than last night. It’s spreading north of the Republican; see the low horizon line.’

Dell and Verne Downs took the inside circle, swinging low from their saddles and applying the torch about every fifty yards. The outer line was fired almost entirely by Bob Downs, who rode leisurely to the rear of the inner line, frequently dismounting to apply a match and renew his torch. The foreman covered both lines, as the firing must be finished fully an hour before daybreak.

When the task of the night was nearly finished, Sargent located Bob Downs. ‘I’m on my way back to our own flank,’ said he. ‘The unexpected might happen; the wind might whip around to a new quarter and catch us asleep. Now, have our team on the ground at sunup and fresh horses for every man. We’ve got a good fight started, and excuses are out of order. If you can think about it, you might bring me a can of tomatoes and a cold biscuit.’

Manly’s crew also burned back-circles to the creek. Opposite camp, where the torch was first applied, the fire had eaten its way only a few hundred yards, fighting against random breezes. Under any favorable air pressure, the interstices between the circles would burn out within a few hours.

Dawn found every man in the saddle. On arriving on the northern flank, two strangers were present. ‘These lads are from the Republican,’ explained Sargent. ‘They saw our light and have come over to lend a hand. They report a fire-guard, burnt a mile wide, north of the river. That was the glow that we saw last night.’

Turning to the men the foreman continued: ‘Follow this fire-guard down to the wagons. Skirmish something to eat and a change of horses. One of you report to Joel Wells, over south, and the other return here. You didn’t aim to sleep any, did you?’

‘They’ve quit sleeping over on the Republican,’ admitted one of the tired men, lifting himself heavily into the saddle. ‘This fire-guard will take us to camp, you say?’

‘That comes near being neighbors,’ observed Sargent, once the lads were out of hearing. ‘The ranches on the Republican are in the same boat with us. It’s a common fight and calls for all hands.’

Extending the fire-guards on the Beaver was merely a repetition of the day before. The commissary, the base, must be brought up to the front. Near the middle of the afternoon, Dell and Verne Downs were dispatched with the team to bring up a wagon, a barrel of water, and a fresh relay of horses.

They returned before dark, to find everything in readiness to apply the torch on a new five-mile front to the north. The south, the ploughed, line had made similar progress, with its commissary also in hand.

By midnight the Beaver back-fire was fully eighteen miles in length, while a similar one on the lower side of the Republican snailed out to meet its neighbor on the south. Another night and they would surely meet.

‘I don’t like the looks of that wild fire on our west,’ admitted the foreman, when his boys gathered at midnight at the extreme limit on their flank. ‘You don’t notice it now, but early this evening, while the grass was dry, she threw up a red tongue that was far from friendly. It may be forty miles away and it may be only thirty. In the afternoon, when the wind lends a hand, she steps out some.’

‘It’s reported that the fire started near the Colorado line,’ said a boy from the Republican. ‘It seems that it got away from campers.’

‘More than likely,’ agreed Sargent. ‘Now, you boys burn your circles a trifle wider to-night. The ones you laid last night burnt out in four hours. I’m going back to the Beaver and lay a new line of back-fire to meet your outside circle. That’s you. Bob, and the boy from up-country. Bear in mind, lads, this byplay is to save the cows on the home range. I’ll pick you up before daybreak.’

The foreman rode hard, hugging the fire-line, broken and jagged like saw-teeth. On reaching the creek, he rode up its bed, through the fire, and was soon dropping matches to throw a signal to his own men.

On meeting the latter, Dell and his partner were detailed, after firing their line to the creek, to bring up half of the remuda.

‘Another day will finish it,’ said the foreman, ‘when we can send everything back to safety. We’re working now without rhyme or reason, without day or date, and at the mercy of the elements. We must keep things in hand. We may have to run ourselves. This isn’t a fire in the kitchen stove.’

It was daybreak when the saddle horses reached Sargent’s wagon. ‘You fellows come through on time — like an ox train,’ admitted the foreman, who had leisurely returned to his post. ‘You must have split the remuda on a guess.’

‘The other boys had hobbled the bell mare,’ said Dell defensively, ‘and we made a running cut in the dark. On time, are we? These twenty-four-hour shifts cover a lot of ground. I could fall out of this saddle and never wake up.’ ‘

‘It’s the making of you, son. You’re a coming cowman. I’ll put you on the mower this morning, and that will shake you up. A mowing machine is the very trick to keep a sleepy boy awake.’

An early start was fortunate. By ten o’clock a stiff breeze was blowing out of the north. An hour later it was veering to the west. At this instant it was discovered that the men from the Republican were burning out the approaching fire-guard a mile wide, the fire following the ploughs.

‘That calls for the torch,’ announced the foreman. ‘Wet your gunny-sacks and burn slow but sure. Those men must know something.’

They did. A courier arrived with the information that two ranges, north of the Republican, were burnt the day before. That the flames jumped a fire-guard a mile wide; that if the wind veered farther to the west, under any pressure of air, the flames were due to sweep down the divide that afternoon.

‘Throw caution to the winds,’ pleaded the messenger. ‘Burn now; apply the torch. Fight fire with fire.’

‘Is that the word?’ inquired Sargent.

‘It’s the only chance.’

‘How soon will your ploughs meet our mower?’

‘By noon, easily.’

‘Verne, round up the remuda and tramp down any tall grass. Neighbor, catch a fresh horse and lend the boy a hand. Flatten out those strips of blue-stem grass.’

It was tense work. Some sixty saddle horses were sent in a gallop over the dangerous spots, doubling back and forth where necessary. The foreman brought up the rear, whipping out numerous fires, any one of which would have laid waste the home range.

The indents, cut into the lee side of the fire-guard, proved valuable, allowing the flames to run in three directions. By early noon the fire-line across the divide was finished. The burning crews met; the face of every man and boy was soot-stained; every canteen was drained.

‘Our wagon will be here directly,’ announced the Beaver foreman. ‘We had half a barrel of water left this morning. This is a dangerous point on the line. Let’s burn some back-circles and widen this fireguard at least a mile.’

Dell arrived with the wagon. ‘A band of fully forty antelope crossed the fire-guard back about a mile,’ he announced. ‘If I hadn’t been in such a hurry, I might have shot one.’

‘Those antelope, moving, indicate danger,’ announced Tony Reil, an old ranchman from the Republican. ‘Better make things secure.’

‘Just my idea,’ agreed Sargent. ‘Unload this water barrel. Knock the lid of a crate of tomatoes and give every one present a can. Dell, take a saddle horse with you and cache the wagon alongside the pool at our first camp on the Beaver. Pick up all the loose stock and tie in with Joel and Manly. Report that this end of the line will win or lose this afternoon. I’ll keep the carbine and the axe.’

He turned instantly. ‘Bob, you and Verne drift up a passel of cattle, with bulls among them.’

‘That’s the talk,’ sanctioned Reil, the cowman.

‘Son,’ continued the Beaver foreman, addressing the first volunteer helper, ‘will you please take charge of our remuda. You’ll find a lagoon on the left, about two miles down the divide. Water the saddle horses and hold them within signaling distance. Anything else?’

The question was addressed to Tony Reil. ‘Empty that crate of tomatoes into this water barrel. We must be here until late, and we may be here in the morning. Now, let’s you and I thread this back-fire and ride out a distance, just to see what we can see.’

‘Fellows, burn back-circles,’ urged Sargent, as they rode away.

In the short buffalo grass the back-fire was easily threaded. A curtain of smoke hung like a pall over the divide. Whirlwinds threw up, high above the horizon, spirals of smoke. Balls of fire shot upward. A thousand antelope were in sight at a time, sullenly moving down the watershed.

The two men only ventured out a few miles. The wind was fair in the west. The old cowman looked at his watch. ‘Coming up thirty minutes late today,’ he commented. It jumped the fire-guard on Hillerman’s range yesterday just at two o’clock. By sundown it took fighting to save the hay and stabling. An hour earlier, neither one would have been saved.’

A shower of ashes fell. ‘There’s a hint,’ observed the foreman. ‘Let’s drop a few matches on our way back. It’s only a question of time now.’

The detail of cattle were in sight. Sargent met them and shot an old bull. ‘Kill a couple more,’ said he, handing the carbine to Bob Downs, ‘and stampede the others to safety. I’ll split this one and have a pair of drags ready, if the fire jumps. This is our last card.’

It was a harsh but sane precaution. Within an hour a steady rain of ashes was descending. Tongues of fire were visible above the black line, rolling forward, and dipping to an end in clouds of smoke. The air was fairly filled with charred debris. A palm held forth was quickly covered with ashes; every one whipped it from his hat; clothing took fire. An oppressive feeling gripped every heart. The horses trembled.

The foreman distributed his men along the danger-line, only a dozen all told. It seemed hopeless. Small fires broke out across the fire-guard, when watchful horsemen dismounted and whipped them out with wet gunny-sacks. One assumed dangerous proportions, in the midst of which Manly and his men arrived and the blaze was smothered. From the lower end of the line the danger was apparent on the divide, and every one had hurried to the scene.

And not a moment too soon. Apparently, as the wind-swept fire met the counter-blaze, great tufts of grass, blazing like rockets in midair, were lifted and carried over a mile, far over the fire-guard, and igniting a front fully a thousand yards wide. Fortunately it happened between sunset and dark, the wind lulling with the evening hour.

The remuda was signaled up. Orders rang out. ‘Bob, take fresh horses and split those cattle that you killed. Take half the outfit and make a fight from the lower flank. Let the back-fire run. Jump onto this front blaze.’

Detailing Joel and Dell to his assistance, Sargent rode to the first animal killed. Ropes were noosed around the pastern joint, fore and hind foot, and from the pommels of saddles the split carcasses were fairly floated astride the burning front. Ropes were lengthened to about thirty feet, allowing the horses to straddle the fire, the drag, flesh-side down, smothering, crushing the blaze. Horsemen followed closely, dismounted, and whipped out rekindling flames.

With the falling of darkness the fire was making a headway of fifty feet a minute. But once the flanks were turned, leaving the rear to exhaust itself, a shout went up, answered down the slope, now a hand-to-hand fight.

‘Take my rope,’ said the foreman to Dell. ‘I’m going around to see how Bob’s making it. Keep your rope out of the blaze and veer your horse away from the fire in gusts of wind. Be careful and don’t singe him. Swing well out from the blaze. Who’s handling the other half of this beef?’

‘Joel and Mr. Tony from the Republican.’

‘Good men at a fire. Shift horses often on those drag-ropes. I’ll be back directly.’

Down the slope the fire was equally well in hand. ‘Girls, you’ve got her whipped,’ announced Sargent. ‘These drags are just about what the doctor ordered. Look back west. The big show’s over. Nothing more to burn unless we give our consent. She’ll die out in the sand-dunes.’

Before midnight the fire that had jumped the guard was crushed out. A few thousand acres of the Beaver range were lost. Westward, as far as the eye could see, a prairie fire, with a hundred-mile front, was smouldering to a quiet death. The back-fire had accomplished its ends.

‘If you boys will go down to our wagons,’ said the Beaver foreman to the men from the Republican, as they sat their horses surveying the field, ‘we’ll put on the big pot, kill a chicken, and churn. There’s water there, and we’ll wash our smutty faces and pull off a big sleep.’

‘There’s water in the river,’ said Tony Reil, reining away. ‘Drop over sometime.’

‘What next?’ inquired Joel.

‘Take the remuda back to camp. If the boys are sleepy, stand them up against the wagons and let them have a little nap. I want to hang around here an hour or so to make sure the fight is won. I’ll be in early in the morning.’