Читать книгу Tomahawk, Fighting Horse of the Old West - Thomas C. Hinkle - Страница 3

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Tomahawk was born many years ago, in the days of the Old West, on a wild cattle range. He came into the world at midnight with the moon and stars shining down on a sequestered little valley of the West. Tomahawk was soon standing on his long, awkward legs, and after he had drunk of the life-giving milk from his mother he began to wobble about. He snorted and began to look around in a world that was a complete mystery to him.

His mother was standing too. She looked about her with searching eyes toward the dark shadows of a ravine that opened here on the valley. She saw nothing, however, but the tall dark trees and she heard nothing but the whispering sounds of the low wind as it stirred through the branches.

Tomahawk did not know that he had been born from a wild mother. Old White Face, as she was known among the men on the Jim Arnold Ranch, had lived in this region for more than twelve years. This wild mother had given birth to a good number of colts in her life, but now she was already getting old and she would give birth to no more. All of her other colts had attracted the cowboys and each one, in time, had been caught by the men before he was six months old. But not so Old White Face. All schemes to capture her had failed and she was still as wild as on the day she was born. Once she had almost been captured when Jim Arnold swung his rope over her head, but when she had felt the rope on her she rushed against it, and with all the force of her fourteen hundred pounds, she broke the rope and galloped away.

As Old White Face stood here in the night watching over her new colt she was as wild and as determined as ever to protect him and keep him with her. The place she had selected for his birth seemed good to her. She could see well in every direction, except for the long line of hills in the north, and she could watch the skyline there for any signs of approaching men.

But cunning as Old White Face was, the cowboys were more cunning still.

It was two weeks after Tomahawk was born that one of the riders chanced to see him from the hills beyond the feeding ground that White Face visited. The cowboy quickly moved out of sight and that night he went back and gave his report to Jim Arnold and the men at the ranch.

Early the next morning Jim Arnold, Bob Williams, Buck Benson and Dan Arnold, Jim’s brother, rode out toward the place. Dan Arnold was at this time thirteen years of age, but he was already very tall, slim and sun-tanned like his brother. Dan was raised on the range and had ridden a horse since he was six years old. Jim Arnold was six feet tall, with piercing dark eyes, and Dan, being now almost as tall, the two of them as the men said, “looked so much alike that they could have been twins if Jim had not been born twelve years before Dan.”

The cover the men selected for a hiding-place was excellent for their purpose. On the top of the high ridge here there grew a number of low cedar trees and between them was a thin screen of brush, so that there were many places where the men could look through and see everything that went on among a number of wild horses below them. A short distance beyond the horses a small, shallow, sandy stream coursed its way lazily along the valley, a stream with no bushes or trees growing beside it. Down the valley the stream gleamed and glistened in the morning sunlight, and the whole place far above and below was one of peaceful stillness.

The men had tied their horses at the base of the hill and made their way up to the lookout on foot. As they approached the top they took off their broad-brimmed hats, and near the summit they bent down low, and, at last, bending lower still, they crawled to a hiding place. They put their hats on the ground beside them and peered through the bushes. They were fortunate in that a steady wind blew across the valley toward them.

When the men looked through the bushes they at once saw everything below, and Jim Arnold whispered, “There they are!” He meant Old White Face and Tomahawk. There were other wild horses feeding below, also, but it was Old White Face and her colt that were above all desirable, and especially her colt. They knew she was now too old ever to be broken satisfactorily, but she was beautiful, with fine blood in her. All her other colts they had captured had proved to be unusually good for they had been larger than the average horses used on the range. The minute Jim Arnold saw Tomahawk now, on this morning, he knew he would grow to be a horse that would be as tall and as big as his mother. Jim Arnold and all experienced horsemen know that the length of a colt’s legs at birth tell about how tall he will be when he is fully grown.

White Face and the other wild horses went on grazing, not knowing that human eyes were watching them. There were four other colts with their mothers on the green valley below, but it was seen that their legs were just the ordinary length. And as Jim and the others looked they had eyes only for Tomahawk. They saw that he was about the same age as the other colts but already he was the most interesting one among them. He was very much taller with his long, gangling legs, and, while the others kept close to their mothers, Tomahawk wandered about some distance from his beautiful mother, White Face. She was a chestnut sorrel horse with long flowing mane and tail. She was considerably taller and bigger than any of the other wild ones that grazed near her, except for a big chestnut sorrel stallion, and White Face was even a little taller than he. She had two white stocking legs in front and a white, or blaze, face, from the base of her ears down to her nose. Tomahawk had that light, uncertain color of most young colts but the men knew that when late fall came he would shed his colt coat, and they wondered what color he would be as a horse. They guessed it might be the same as White Face.

The men noticed the big chestnut sorrel stallion grazing with the other wild horses. He was of a solid color except that he had a small white spot on his forehead, and as he grazed he faced the wind and now and then raised his head and looked out across the valley. He and the others had often been chased by hard-riding cowboys. These, above everything else, were to be avoided. But Jim Arnold, in particular, saw, as he watched, that the wild stallion was not the main “watchdog” of the group; it was White Face. She raised her head often and looked, but unlike the stallion, she glanced in every direction. Jim noticed that as the other horses grazed, they raised their heads now and then, cocked their ears stiffly forward and looked toward her.

Tomahawk stood for a time near his mother, looking intently ahead, his ears cocked forward. Suddenly he let out a snort, kicked up his heels and ran, tearing around the horses as if something possessed him. When he did this White Face raised her head and looked at him, then she went on feeding. Tomahawk ran clear around the small herd, stopped, and looked out on the valley as if his eyes were set on some particular object, although he saw nothing. Again he snorted and kicked up his long hind legs, and again he raced around the horses. But his mother paid no attention. She understood this. It was merely that her colt was full of life. Actually she wanted him so. And then Tomahawk did something he had never done before. He did not know himself why he did it, just as any colt his age does not know why he does things. He looked for a minute out across the valley, snorted, then suddenly bolted away. The instant he was too far, White Face became another mare. She went tearing after him, her long legs taking her swiftly over the ground. The wild stallion and all the other horses stopped grazing and looked up, still chewing the grass in their mouths.

It was surprising how fast Tomahawk ran, but White Face had unusual speed and she overtook Tomahawk. When she did so she laid her ears back, her teeth shone, and she nipped him sharply on the rump as she ran behind him. With an astonished snort Tomahawk whirled, and, understanding his mother meant business, he turned and ran back toward the herd. He ran as fast toward them as he had run away and White Face nipped him at every jump.

This action of White Face here, while unusual, was one that the cattlemen knew sometimes happened. Now and then an old mare, generally an intelligent and fighting mother, would do as White Face did. But more often, as the cattlemen said, “Most fool mares will just run after a colt when he runs away. Just run after him and keep nickering for him to come back. Just run after him and run her fool head off, and nothing more.” It was seen that Tomahawk’s mother was different. Jim Arnold and all the men grinned at the sight. They had great admiration for Old White Face. She was the kind of mother that got things done. They all thought to themselves, “It was right pleasant to see how Tomahawk’s mother took care of him.” She drove him up to the herd, stopped, looked at him briefly and gave a snort. She seemed to say to him, “Well! So that’s over. And if you try that again I’ll give you more next time!” Whereupon White Face went on with her grazing.

Tomahawk stood and looked about, blinked his eyes, put his nose down and touched the grass that seemed to be so interesting to his mother. But as for himself he found it, at this time, wholly uninteresting. He looked for a time at his mother as she bit off the grass and he seemed to think to himself, “You seem hungry. I’m hungry, too,” whereupon he went to his mother’s side, dove his nose up under her flank and began to draw out and swallow the milk, switching his short tail now and then after the manner of a colt while sucking. White Face raised her head and stood still. Tomahawk did not know why he switched his tail. Probably he didn’t know he switched it at all.

Jim Arnold and the men saw that even while her colt was sucking White Face did not forget to watch. She held her head up and, with her large dark eyes, she looked about in every direction. But she did not see or scent the men who were lying hidden watching her. The wind lifted her mane and, now and then, it fanned her long flowing tail. But the wind, sometimes kind to her, was not so on this day. It blew from her toward the watchers on the hill.

Jim Arnold peeped through the brush with his dark, piercing eyes, planning for action. Jim was one of the best rifle shots on the cattle range. It was known generally that if any man could put a rifle ball where he wanted, it was Jim Arnold. Dan and the men here knew this perhaps better than anyone. They all had a great admiration for Jim in this as they did in things generally. They were always glad to be with “the boss.”

It was Bob Williams who whispered low, “Jim, why don’t you crease White Face. I know you can. Crease her and we’ll get her and that colt.” Dan whispered in agreement. “Go ahead, Jim! I’ll go back and bring up your rifle.”

Jim waited a little before he replied. Then he whispered, “All right, Dan. Bring me my rifle. I’ll shoot high, if anything. I’d rather miss altogether before I’d kill that old mare.”

Jim Arnold had been one of the very few men who had at three different times successfully “creased” a wild horse. To do this correctly, a man fired at the top of the horse’s neck so that the rifle ball struck the top of the bone, momentarily shocking the horse into unconsciousness, but doing no further harm. Then, when the horse fell, the man, or men in hiding, ran out and hog-tied the horse. But more horses were killed by this method than otherwise, since the man who shot was more likely to aim too low and so break the horse’s neck, and sometimes the man aimed too high and so missed the horse altogether. It required an expert rifle shot to do the work perfectly.

Dan went down the slope to the horses, picked Jim’s rifle out of the holster on the saddle, and brought along two coils of rope from the saddles. Jim took the rifle and said, “I’m going to shoot high if anything. I won’t take chances, seeing that little feller needs his mammy.”

Lying on his elbows Jim slowly pushed the rifle barrel through the thin brush until he had a perfect line on the big wild mare. At that moment she was standing sidewise to him, and standing perfectly still. She offered a perfect chance. Bang! The rifle roared and the wild horses were off at a run—all except White Face. She went down as if struck by a cannon. Was she killed? The men ran down the slope and Dan, on Jim’s orders, hurried back to bring up all their horses.

The ranchers rushed up to look at White Face. Instantly they felt great relief. They saw she was alive, but stunned. They must work fast with their ropes. They were so busy they could pay no attention to Tomahawk. At first he had started off with the other horses, running like a streak for some distance but, seeing his mother did not follow, he had come running back. He stopped some distance away and saw the men working over her, down on the ground. Uttering a frightened nicker the colt ran around in a circle, stopped and looked at the men, and again ran around the place. He stopped and made the loudest nickering sounds he could in his frightened state of mind.

The men paid no attention to Tomahawk. They knew only that he was near by and they knew he would not leave. They must first fix the ropes on White Face so they could lead her to the ranch. Then they would capture Tomahawk easily. They worked as fast as they could with the ropes, but they had not quite done when White Face came to herself. Her legs were tied so she couldn’t get up but she laid back her ears and reached for Buck Benson with her long white teeth. Buck leaped back and Jim and the others laughed. Jim said, “Buck, I reckon she’s hungry and her liking man meat maybe.” When they saw that White Face would fight them they simply used more caution. They knew that no matter how much she fought they could now restrain her. Bob Williams tossed a loop of rope over her neck from one side and Buck Benson tossed another from the other side. They pulled on the slip-knots until the old mare’s wind was shut off to the point where she had to quit fighting. In a brief time Jim Arnold had all the ropes as he wanted them. He tied two more long ropes on White Face’s neck so they would not slip. By this time Dan had arrived with the saddle horses.

Bob Williams and Buck Benson now mounted their horses and rode off in opposite directions. Each man had tied one of the long ropes, that was attached to the neck of White Face, to his saddle horns. Jim and Dan had their horses close beside them. With a sharp knife Jim cut the two ropes with the slip-knots and quickly mounted his horse. Quick as Jim was, White Face leaped to her feet and tried to charge him with her teeth, but Buck and Bob checked her by holding the long ropes on her neck taut on either side. She lunged back, then ran forward but White Face found herself checked at every point by the two long ropes on either side that were tied to the saddle horns.

And now Jim gave attention to Tomahawk. Swinging his rope he urged his horse after him. Tomahawk had completed only a half circle when the loop caught him and now Dan rode up. Jim fixed a rope that would not slip on Tomahawk’s neck and handed the end of it to Dan saying, as he did so, “Dan, you ride on ahead with him. Old White Face will follow.”

Tomahawk leaped and plunged and gave his coltish snorts and tried to get away. Once when he ran against his rope he fell down. He was not hurt but he had difficulty in getting up on his long, awkward legs. When he was up again Dan started his horse at a walk and pulled the rope on Tomahawk’s neck. Again Tomahawk unlimbered his long legs and ran against the rope and fell. He got up, stood trembling, and let out a shrill, coltish nicker to White Face. The old mare lunged forward and Dan started his horse again. Tomahawk leaped forward but he did not run as hard as before. Dan looked only at Tomahawk. He knew he did not need to watch the old fighting mare behind with her long gleaming teeth. Jim and the others would see that she did not get too close. Buck and Bob rode wide apart, keeping the long ropes on her neck as taut as possible.

Dan rode ahead with Tomahawk and Jim rode behind White Face, as he said, “to encourage her some.” Tomahawk still tried to break away, and again and again he nickered to White Face and she nickered shrilly back to him. The old mare went forward as fast as she could. They traveled on and were making good time toward the ranch. White Face looked forward with blazing eyes, her chestnut sorrel coat dark with sweat. After some time had passed Jim said they would stop and let her rest. He rode up near her and began talking to her. “Now, don’t take on so, Old Lady. We don’t aim to hurt you or the little feller either. You will both be better with us than out here where the wolves and mountain lions can tackle your colt. Take it easy!”

Jim rode up to the place where Dan sat on his horse holding Tomahawk. Dan pulled the rope up short so that Tomahawk stood quite near. Jim dismounted and put his hands on Tomahawk. Tomahawk leaped to get free but Jim put one long arm around the colt’s chest and the other around his rump and held him. He began to talk to him, saying, “Now, see here, little feller, we won’t hurt you. You got to get acquainted with us and once you do, you’ll like it.” Tomahawk tried to jump free but Jim easily held him. Jim could have lifted Tomahawk from his feet had he so desired. Dan dismounted and began to rub Tomahawk, but he did not put his hands on Tomahawk’s nose. Dan knew, as did the men, that a colt, first caught, in human hands, could stand handling better anywhere on his body than around his head, and especially his nose.

When White Face saw Jim and Dan touching Tomahawk she tried to reach them, but each time she felt the strong ropes holding on her neck. After a time she stood still and only looked. She had never seen anything like this. To her the man creatures were strangely cunning and powerful. She could not understand this. At first she thought the men might injure Tomahawk, yet he was still standing there. He was standing quiet now, and he was still being rubbed by the human hands. Tomahawk seemed almost comfortable. White Face breathed easier. The blazing look in her eyes softened a little, but not much. She could not get free. Neither could her colt, but it seemed to her that no harm was being done to him. He was standing with his face away from her, standing still, with his head up, puffing a little, but he acted as if he was contented.

If Tomahawk had been two weeks older, and so a month old, he would have had much more of the wild in him. As it was he was but two weeks old and with the right kind of treatment the wild feelings could be quickly trained out of him. But it was quite different with White Face. It was known that she was at least twelve years old and the men knew this was the first time she had ever been captured. She was one of the wildest of wild horses and would so remain. She gave evidence of this when, all at once, she began to fight against the ropes with all of her might. She leaped forward, then lunged backward. She tried to bite the ropes, and in her plunging she floundered to the ground, but sprang up instantly. She looked with blazing eyes at the men around Tomahawk and gave a loud snort. She stamped one of her big hoofs on the sod and looked her defiance. She did not feel that the men were hurting Tomahawk but it was enough that they were restraining him.

The journey to the ranch was slow since, from now on, White Face fought all the way. She had no opportunity to fight the men either with her teeth or her heels, but they saw she would do so instantly if the chance were offered.

It was evening when they reached the ranch. All the other riders had come in and at once there was great interest in White Face and Tomahawk. With both curiosity and admiration for the old mare one of the men walked too close when White Face was led into the ranch yard. She dashed toward the cowboy with her mouth open. The cowboy leaped aside and there was laughter among the men. Jim Arnold said, “She’s a grand old mare. She’s been fighting all the way and she’s still full of fight. Now we got to get her in the corral and tie her up with the little feller. And we got to tie them both. If he can’t get loose, then even if she does, I think she’ll hang around.”

It took considerable time to get White Face into the corral since she fought the men at every turn. They first got Tomahawk inside and tied him, hoping she would go in at once to be with him, but the old mare, seeing the corral and its gate, understood, and was determined not to go in. But at last the men got her into the corral and tied her on the far side from the gate. At first she paid no attention to Tomahawk who was tied in the corral close enough to her so that he could get his milk. White Face stood with her head up looking with fighting eyes at the men. Jim Arnold grinned and said, “She’s saying, ‘If I could only get at you fellers I’d chew you up and spit you out in little pieces.’ She’s plumb unreasonable.”

Two buckets of water were lowered into the corral and also a half bucket of oats so that White Face could reach them.

After supper Dan went out to take a last look at the two prizes, but at Tomahawk in particular. When Dan came up to the gate White Face snorted, but Tomahawk only stood and looked. Dan stood looking through the bars of the gate for a time talking low to both of them. The gate was on the far side from where he stood but Dan did not try to go nearer to White Face. He stood talking low and tried to soothe the old mare with words, but all he got for his trouble were defiant snorts. After a time he went into the house and the old mare stood looking at the light shining through the windows. She only stood still and looked. After some time she saw the light vanish. Then the place was in darkness and all was still.

Tomahawk got hungry and he began to nurse. White Face looked at the darkened house until Tomahawk stopped nursing. She then put her nose down on him and made a motherly sound. Then she began to look at the buckets near by. She put her nose down to a bucket of water, smelled it suspiciously, flipped the water once with her upper lip and began drinking. She drank all the water in one of the buckets, looked up at the dark house for a minute, then put her nose in the other bucket and drank all the water there, also. She was hungry but the feed in the bucket was strange to her. She put her nose down to the oats in the bucket. She had never smelled such feed before, but it had a delicious fragrance. She took a bite in her mouth, chewed it and found it good. She promptly ate all the oats and licked the bottom of the bucket to get every bit of the feed. After this she looked for some time at the dark, shadowy house standing still in the night. She put her nose down on Tomahawk. He seemed to be in good shape and he acted as if he were contented. He was getting sleepy. He dropped his head down and dozed for a time, then following the urge of his nature he promptly lay down beside his mother on the ground, stretched out full length with his head on the ground and fell asleep.

But White Face did not go to sleep. She stood still and she kept her eyes steadily on the darkened ranch house, the place that had now become so dark and quiet.