Читать книгу The Ranch on the Beaver - Andy Adams - Страница 7

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The winter of 1887-88 is marked in range history by its vast cattle drifts. No section, north or south, was exempt from the rigors of the storm king. Even in the Texas Panhandle, drifting cattle lodged against the fenced lines of railways to such an extent that ranch outfits were rushed by rail to relieve the congested points. The cattle were held against the wire fences by the merciless winds, and nothing but prompt action, requiring hundreds of men and horses, saved the day.

The ranch on the Beaver was sorely tried. A second drift occurred the following month, and a third one during the latter part of March, both being turned on the Prairie Dog. Fortunately the drifts reached the latter creek during the hours of light, and were held by a patrol in patient waiting. Every man in the Beaver outfit was called to the saddle, and nothing but sleepless vigilance prevented a further drift from the home range. Thousands of strays came down from the north, and were held the same as if owned on the Beaver. Possibly some neighbor to the south, in observing the golden rule, was doing likewise. On the range it was possible to cast bread upon the waters.

Joel made several trips to the Republican.

Membership was secured in a cattle association to the north, and another in the south, both being State organizations. The Nebraska cattle men would be represented in all round-ups in Kansas, and it was a matter of economy with Wells Brothers to hold membership in each association.

‘We’re going to outfit two wagons,’ announced Joel to the line riders in council. ‘All our neighbors on the Republican will send men and horses, will share in the commissary expense, and in the wages of cooks and wranglers. I agreed to furnish a wagon and team, and we’ll have about thirty men and over two hundred saddle horses. If any of our cattle get through that drag-net, it’s because our eyesight’s poor or we can’t read brands. What do you think, Don Jose?’

‘You seem to have the lesson before school takes up,’ answered Manly.

Spring came early, the lines were abandoned, and the men at the outposts returned to headquarters. The herd had wintered strong, only a slight winter-kill among the old cows, and the ranch rested in contentment. The round-up for western Kansas was not yet announced, the first of June being about as early as the cattle would shed their winter coats, the brands be readable, the grass be capable of sustaining mounts, and admit of beginning the work. A month or more of idleness confronted the ranch, and Sargent, urged by Dell, revived the subject of hunting the wild horses at the outer lakes, over the line in Colorado. The presence of a band of mustangs became known, the fall before, while holding a new herd in quarantine.

‘I’m laying for you fellows with a green elm club,’ announced Joel, addressing his brother. ‘The lines of entrenchment were broken last winter, and our reserves of horses are not going to be wasted in hunting mustangs. With over a thousand cattle adrift, not a saddle will be cinched, not an ounce of horseflesh will be spent on any side issue. Gathering our cattle astray is the next big play coming up, and it calls for all hands and the cook. There’s a fine old man down on the Pease River who comes first. His interests don’t call for any wild-horse hunting this spring. Now, take your medicine like nice little boys, or haul wood for next winter, anything to take the wire edge off you.’

‘After those few remarks,’ said Sargent, bowing, ‘hunting the mustang, for the present, is a closed incident. Dell, I’m sorry we left The Wagon. It seems that our ability is not appreciated at headquarters. Picking wild flowers is all that is left us now.’

‘Some medicine talk,’ observed Manly, as Joel walked away. ‘And to the point. Save your horses is good advice. If we have wet weather during the spring round-up, that will take the starch out of you two.’

Early in May, notices of the round-ups began reaching headquarters. Work was to begin the 25th of the current month, in the association covering western Kansas, and in which the brothers held an active membership. Their mail multiplied; no less than half a dozen pass-books reached them, from members of similar organizations to the northwest, even from Montana. Letters poured in from cattle men in Wyoming and Nebraska, conferring power of attorney on Wells Brothers, to gather any cattle adrift, in the brands given and within the territory of their home association.

‘Do you understand this?’ inquired Joel, handing a power of attorney to Sargent.

‘Simple as sifting meal,’ answered the latter. ‘This cowman is unable to send men to the round-up in western Kansas. Instead, he authorizes you to gather his cattle, if any are found astray in the territory of your organization. You’ll have to furnish each of your men with a list of brands, not only of your own, but also those for which you hold authority to gather. Carry this document with you on the round-up, and when you claim a stray, do it on the written authority of its owner. This is just a detail, a side issue, in rounding out your education as a cowman.’

‘There are so many brands and a half-dozen powers of attorney,’ said Joel, hesitating.

‘Start a little book for each of your men,’ explained the foreman. ‘Give a list of your own brands on the first page. On the next one give the names of the cowman or company from whom you hold written authority, and a list of his or its brands. As fast as power of attorney is given you, add another page to your book.’

‘We have authority to gather over forty brands already.’

‘That’s nothing. Any man worth sending out on a round-up ought to keep a hundred brands in his mind. They’re as easily remembered as saddle horses.’

‘But why should so many come to us?’ queried the boy.

‘Exactly. Yours is the extreme northwest range in your association; it’s marked so on the map. Those powers of attorney come to you on account of your location. If you gather cattle, report to their owner. He may send for the strays, or he may authorize you to ship them on his account. It’s an easy word to spell.’

Joel hesitated. ‘It means a lot of work, and—’

‘Read the rules of the different cattle associations. Some make a fixed allowance for gathering and shipping expense. No cowman is so hidebound that he expects you to incur expense without allowing for it. You ought to be able to cover all your round-up outlay, in gathering stray cattle for others.’

The boy was apt. ‘Oh, well, if they allow us the expense of gathering and shipping,’ said he, ‘that’s a cow of a different color.’

‘Expense follows like feed-bills in shipping. Suppose you gather a carload of beeves for this man on the Niobrara River, you summer and ship them for him, is he going to complain of your expense bill? Not if he’s white. And what will it cost you? You must attend the round-ups, anyhow.’

‘I have the idea,’ said Joel, rising. ‘We’ll make out our brand-books to-night, when all the boys are in camp.’

‘Let each one make out his own. Then it’s his own writing, and he ought to be able to read his own brands. No other man can read my writing, and my brands look like quail tracks, or bear traps, or a lost bit of rope.’

An active week followed. The remuda was gathered and every horse put into trim. Joel made a hasty trip to the Republican, summoning the neighbors to the north to meet at their ranch, on or before the fifteenth day of May. Under orders of the home association, the work would begin in two divisions, and on the extreme ends of the range, tributary to the Arkansas River. This would require the brothers to send men on each division, and to be represented in a manner that admitted of no weakness on the outer, skirmish line. The spring round-up was held for the purpose of gathering the winter drift, and the ranch on the Beaver was conscious of having over a thousand cattle astray.

‘Our neighbors are all ready,’ reported Joel on his return, ‘and will be here on the dot. Allowing six from our ranch, it looks like we might have fifty men with our two wagons. We’ll provision and outfit at Grinnell, from which place each outfit will start to join its division. Every one seems anxious for a clean round-up.’

They came like an army of invasion. Two men arrived from the Arickaree, in Colorado, five days in advance of the day set, their blankets and camp kit on a pack-horse. Every day added to the numbers, and on the evening of the 14th, the wagon from the Republican came in, the numbers totaling fifty-eight men, four of whom were cooks and wranglers. The men were mounted, with from six to eight horses each, numbering over three hundred head, the pick of the ranches and fit for the coming work.

The outfits were made up at the railroad. Sargent was elected captain over the wagon on the western division. Dell and Hamlet accompanied it, and started for Trail City at once. The other wagon bore off to the east, crossing the old Texas and Montana cattle trail, and expecting to strike the river fully fifty miles northeast of Dodge. The spring round-up would thus cover, in its meanderings, nearly two hundred miles of the Arkansas Valley.

Quinlin and Verne Downs were left at headquarters. The other three, Joel, Manly, and Bob Downs, joined the wagon from the Republican, and on parting at Grinnell, the six drew aside for a final conference. Two extra powers of attorney awaited them at the station, and, while copying the brands into each one’s book, Manly suggested to those going west a few timely hints.

‘Now, you fellows lay low and shine only when there’s work to do. When the captain on your division calls for men to rope a steer, night-herd, or ride on the outside circle, be the first to volunteer. Let your work speak for itself, and in no time it will leak out that those — Y boys are cowmen. When you claim a cow, claim her for keeps. If any one cuts a steer back on you, don’t argue; go to your captain and lodge your grievance. He’s liable to be some old cowman, square and white, and he’ll see that you get your due. There’s always a lot of smart men at a round-up, claiming everything, and this one ought to bring every mother’s son to the front. The only way to fade those fellows is to show them that you are the real thing, and that they are only Sunday men. Now, get these brands straight, and overtake your wagon.’

Aside from their own, the boys from the Beaver carried authority to gather sixty-three alien brands. Each trio read and re-read them, memorizing the names of the owners and the ranges, and before the different rendezvous were reached, each one had his work perfect. Gathering so many brands might provoke comment, but with written authority, properly attested, there was nothing to fear.

The general meeting-points were of marked interest to Joel and Dell Wells. This was their first round-up; they were thrown in contact with men from other States, many of whom had started in a small way, and a touch with their kind served to broaden the brothers. Men from the mountains joined the western division, which numbered at starting over two hundred and fifty men and nearly two thousand horses. On the eastern division, the number of men and horses was slightly larger. It was the round-up following a severe winter, and calling for the best in men and mounts.

It was reasonable to suppose that all cattle adrift from the Beaver would lodge on the Smoky and Arkansas Rivers. The bulk of them ought to be found on the former watercourse, but, in consequence of the heavy drift, the entire range of the home organization would be covered.

The work began on time. In fact, the afternoon before the date set, an outside circle swung around, drifting every hoof into the valley. The night before beginning the work, captains over divisions were selected, with captains over wagons to execute general orders, twelve on the eastern and ten on the western. Each division would move to a meeting-point, work governing the pace, and carrying the cut of strays with it. The outside circle, an advance guard, led the work, shaping up the cattle, so that on the arrival of the main body, there was nothing to do but cut out all strays and move on. The strays were driven by a detail, like trail cattle, often missing a round-up and only joining the main camp at night. Each wagon had its own horse wrangler and cook, who moved ahead to noon and night camps, and answered to the orders of its own captain. All details of men were made from each wagon, and the rapidity with which a perfectly organized round-up handled cattle seemed marvelous. Ten thousand cattle was a small morning’s work.

Each man cut his strays into a common herd. As the work progressed, this contingent was added to daily. On reaching home ranges, all strays were claimed. This required a morning hour, and every owner must serve notice where and when he would claim his strays, and the right of every man to pass on the same was granted. The brand governed ownership, from which there was no appeal.

The round-up numbered hundreds of Texans. From the moment of reaching the meeting-points. Jack Sargent and Joe Manly began seeking out old friends. In cattle countries the Texan transplants readily, clannish to the core, noticeable by his saddle poise, accuracy of eye, and the ease with which he does his work. All those from the Beaver, including the boys, were marked by their manners, of fair play, a willingness to lend a hand, which won them friends from the first hour. During the initial day’s work, at a captain’s request. Bob Downs roped and tied steers, to examine the brands, as willingly as he would have answered civil questions. Manly was asked to referee a number of brands, and no one questioned his decisions.

Allowing one for detail duty, two —Y men were in the thick of every round-up. It mattered not how a cow passed, the trained eye caught the brand, and whether it was one in a thousand, or more, the men claimed their own. The first day was gratefully disappointing, not a stray from the Beaver being found, with only seven head of alien cattle gathered. The day’s work was too far to the eastward to catch any home drift, and few were to be expected until the main round-up reached the big bend of the Arkansas River, below the old trail market of Dodge City.

The beginning of work on the western division was advanced a day. The quarantine grounds at Trail City were covered with cattle; through herds were expected soon, and an isolated range must be granted to trail cattle, direct from Texas. A local round-up, over the line in Colorado, in advance of beginning the work in Kansas, met the requirements. Twenty-five miles of the valley was covered in an immense circle, making four big round-ups, and at evening the Kansas cowmen crossed the line with over two thousand cattle.

Every stock association, to the north and northwest, had inspectors in each division. Even the Texas Panhandle was represented on the western end, not that cattle would drift north, but trail herds often carried stock astray, and the calling of the rustler was a reality. Sargent took the Texas inspector under his wing, made him welcome at his wagon, loaned him horses, and to outsiders, the range expert from the Panhandle passed as a — Y man. He was a quiet fellow, attracted no attention, yet with an eye and memory for brands which fully qualified him for the task.

The western division moved down the river like companies of cavalry. The eastern one marched up the same stream, each crossing the river as occasion required, and on the afternoon of the 31st, well above Dodge City, the details working on the outside circle, moving in advance, hailed each other. That night the divisions camped like opposing armies, and in the morning the two cuts of strays gathered were thrown together, numbering over seven thousand, and a general reassortment began. All cattle belonging on the Arkansas River or to the south would be cut out and sent to their ranges, as the next move was north to the Smoky River. The work required a full half-day. A dozen disputes arose over ownership, the captains laboring honestly to mete out justice, but the leaven of human greed, if not common theft, was present.

Cattle rustlers dreaded a round-up. It bared their work to an open inspection, and some one must answer, either in person or by proxy. A rustler might do his work by night, but the light of day formed the working hours of the round-up.

‘What do you claim that beef on?’ inquired the Panhandle inspector, whose name was Vance, of a man in the eastern division.

‘He’s a “Crescent eight” beef,’ loftily answered the one addressed. ‘Belongs to an old friend of mine in the Indian Nation.’

‘Have you authority to gather the brand?’ inquired Vance.

‘Worked for him once; don’t need any authority.’

‘You ought to carry a power of attorney,’ insisted the inspector.

‘Who says so?’ sneeringly inquired the claimant.

‘I’ll look at your authority and you may look at mine,’ answered Vance, shaking out a rope. ‘My claim is that the beef was once a “Half Circle S.” We’ll throw him and see. You may be right, and then again the brand may have been tampered with.’

‘You’ll throw no steer of mine,’ threateningly said the man.

‘Oh, yes, I will,’ replied Vance, smiling; ‘and what’s more. I’ll clip the brand. If he’s your beef, I want you to have him.’

Without a further word, the inspector cut out the beef, an immense animal, caught him by the horns the first throw, while Hamlet heeled him, the dexterity of their work calling for applause. The big fellow was eased to the ground, hog-tied, when Vance dismounted, unearthed a clipper, and bared the brand until he who cared might read. That the original brand had been tampered with, altering the letter ‘S’ into the figure ‘8,’ and changing a half-circle with an upper, outside curve, into a crescent, was too crude to pass inspection. .

‘I’ll take the beef,’ simply said Vance. ‘Turn him loose, Reil.’

In range parlance, it was the rustler’s move. ‘One moment,’ said he, pleading for time. ‘I’m not claiming that steer for myself, but for an old friend, a man I once worked for—’

‘You carry authority from your friend?’ questioned the captain of the eastern division.

‘There’s no occasion to. I’ll write him—’

‘The beef is yours, Mr. Vance,’ interrupted the captain.

‘Men, this is an outrage,’ protested the rustler, with injured innocence. ‘If this injustice took place on my home range, before I’d give up that steer. I’d fight the man who claimed him.’

‘No, you wouldn’t,’ soothingly said the inspector, handing the card of his association to the rustler. ‘My name is Vance, down on the corner, underscored, commonly called Jim Vance. I meet up with a good many men like you. They always bluff, and always wind up by threatening to shoot. The fact is, a cow-thief is always a coward, and all this bluff of burning powder is breath wasted; simply lets a rustler down easy. However, if I’ve wronged you. I’ll give you the first shot.’

The beef was freed and turned back into the main herd. Dell and Joel were eager witnesses to the incident, the other Beaver men winking among themselves, inwardly gloating over each move. Vance won friends by the score, was welcome at any wagon, and until the round-up ended, no one ever questioned his work.

* * * * * * * * * *

The spring round-up of the Arkansas Valley was over. Fully fifteen thousand cattle were gathered, over half of which were sent direct to home ranges. Twelve outfits claimed their strays before the roundup moved, reducing the remnant to about three thousand, all of which belonged to the Smoky or to ranges farther north. Less than a hundred head from the Beaver were found, while the strays, gathered by proxy, more than doubled that number.

With little loss of time the main round-up started for the Smoky River. Its numbers were cut in half, no one looking to the north for cattle astray, and thereafter the work was carried on in a single division. Wagons were constantly joining in and dropping out, strays were claimed every morning, the main herd increasing its numbers slowly. A week was spent on the march up the Smoky and across to the Saline, a number of side round-ups were required, and as the work advanced the — Y outfit came into action.

Each day brought results. Fully one hundred and fifty miles southeast of the home range, the missing cattle from the Beaver were encountered in numbers. All hands were excused from day duty, every gathering was combed to an animal, the condition of the strays being somewhat surprising.

‘That’s always the result,’ explained Sargent to the brothers. ‘Cattle adrift winter better than those under restraint. They shift about, halt on dry ranges, and as long as they move, they’re immune to cold. It takes a little riding to bring them home again, but that’s part of your tuition. We may be out three weeks, but every cow on the Beaver will go home with us. Your drift is going to run over a thousand head.’

On leaving the Smoky, it was largely a matter of neighborhood round-ups. Outfits were sent east and west of the general course, cattle were shaped up in advance, and allowing for delays, the captain announced the 15th of June as the end, with a roundup of the Wells ranch on the Beaver.

‘Let us know a day or two in advance,’ said Joel to the captain, ‘and we’ll have our cattle in shape. We’ll send a man in home to notify the boys. About three round-ups, half a day’s work, will cover our holdings.’

The last work before reaching the Beaver was on the North Fork of the Solomon. Every one from the Republican was pleased with results, and, as the herd of strays dropped into the old trail, heading north, it numbered fully four thousand head. It reached the lower end of the Wells Brothers’ range in ample time on the 14th to trim the herd of Beaver cattle, and, after the work was over. Inspector Vance called Sargent and Joel aside.

‘To-morrow lets me out,’ said the inspector. ‘I have gathered nearly a hundred head for my people, and I’d like to leave them with you boys. Our association allows two dollars a head for summering and shipping all cattle found outside the State. I’ve shared your wagon and ridden your horses, and one good turn deserves another. Say so, and I’ll cut mine out to-morrow.’

‘Of course, we’ll take them,’ said Sargent, answering for Joel. ‘Just give us a list of the brands gathered.’

‘Manly thinks Mr. Stoddard is a member of the Panhandle association,’ said Joel, to Sargent, rather than to the inspector.

‘Dudley Stoddard?’ questioned Vance. ‘Why, he’s one of the grand old men of our association. White as lamb’s wool. Name and address right here in our brand-book. Oh, I know the terms on which you boys are holding these Lazy H cattle. Uncle Dud asked me to send him a private report.’

‘We’ll take yours,’ simply said Joel, ‘but there will be no charges. There’s a tie between our ranch and you Texans. Just leave your brands.’