Arizona Sketches
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Joseph A. Munk >> Arizona Sketches
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We were all up and out early the next morning to witness the
birth of a new day. The sunrise was glorious, and bright
colors in many hues flashed across the sky. The valley echoed
with the cheerful notes of the mocking bird and the soft air was
filled with the fragrance of wild flowers. The scene was grandly
inspiring and sent a thrill of pleasure through every nerve.
While thus absorbed by the beauties of nature we heard an halloo,
and looking down the road in the direction of the driver's
bivouac we saw him coming swinging his hat in the air and driving
at a rapid pace that soon brought him to the ranch house. In
answer to our inquiries as to how he had spent the night he
reported that the horses stood quietly in their tracks all night
long, while he slept comfortably in the wagon. In the morning
the horses started without undue urging as if tired of inaction
and glad to go in the direction of provender. They were
completely broken by their fast and after that gave no further
trouble.
After a stay of four weeks, learning something of the ways of
ranch life and experiencing not a few exciting adventures,
I returned home feeling well pleased with my first trip to the
ranch.
CHAPTER III
THE OPEN RANGE
Arizona is in the arid belt and well adapted to the range cattle
industry. Its mild climate and limited water supply make it the
ideal range country. Indeed, to the single factor of its limited
water supply, perhaps, more than anything else is its value due
as an open range. If water was abundant there could be no open
range as then the land would all be farmed and fenced.
Arizona is sometimes spoken of as belonging to the plains, but it
is not a prairie country. Mountains are everywhere, but are
separated in many places by wide valleys. The mountains not only
make fine scenery, but are natural boundaries for the ranches and
give shade and shelter to the cattle.
There are no severe storms nor blizzard swept plains where cattle
drift and perish from cold. The weather is never extremely cold,
the mercury seldom falling to more than a few degrees below
freezing, except upon the high plateaus and mountains of northern
Arizona. If it freezes during the night the frost usually
disappears the next day; and, if snow flies, it lies only on the
mountains, but melts as fast as it falls in the valleys. There
are but few cloudy or stormy days in the year and bright, warm
sunshine generally prevails. There has never been any loss of
cattle from cold, but many have died from drought as a result of
overstocking the range.
The pastures consist of valley, mesa and mountain lands which, in
a normal season, are covered by a variety of nutritious grasses.
Of all the native forage plants the gramma grass is the most
abundant and best. It grows only in the summer rainy season
when, if the rains are copious, the gray desert is converted into
a vast green meadow.
The annual rainfall is comparatively light and insufficient to
grow and mature with certainty any of the cereal crops. When the
summer rains begin to fall the rancher is "jubilant" and the "old
cow smiles." Rain means even more to the ranchman than it does
to the farmer. In an agricultural country it is expected that
rain or snow will fall during every month of the year, but on the
range rain is expected only in certain months and, if it fails to
fall then, it means failure, in a measure, for the entire year.
Rain is very uncertain in Arizona. July and August are the rain
months during which time the gramma grass grows. Unless the rain
falls daily after it begins it does but little good, as frequent
showers are required to keep the grass growing after it once
starts. A settled rain of one or more days' duration is of rare
occurrence. During the rainy season and, in fact, at all times,
the mornings are usually clear. In the forenoon the clouds begin
to gather and pile up in dark billowy masses that end in showers
during the afternoon and evening. But not every rain cloud
brings rain. Clouds of this character often look very
threatening, but all their display of thunder and lightning is
only bluff and bluster and ends in a fizzle with no rain. After
such a demonstration the clouds either bring wind and a
disagreeable dust storm, or, if a little rain starts to fall, the
air is so dry that it evaporates in mid air, and none of it ever
reaches the earth. In this fashion the clouds often threaten to
do great things, only to break their promise; and the anxious
rancher stands and gazes at the sky with longing eyes, only to be
disappointed again and again.
As a rule water is scarce. A long procession of cloudless days
merge into weeks of dry weather; and the weeks glide into months
during which time the brazen sky refuses to yield one drop of
moisture either of dew or rain to the parched and thirsty earth.
Even the rainy season is not altogether reliable, but varies
considerably one year with another in the time of its appearance
and continuance.
The soil is sandy and porous and readily absorbs water, except
where the earth is tramped and packed hard by the cattle. One
peculiarity of the country as found marked upon the maps, and
that exists in fact, is the diminution and often complete
disappearance of a stream after it leaves the mountains. If not
wholly lost upon entering the valley the water soon sinks out of
sight in the sand and disappears and reappears at irregular
intervals, until it loses itself entirely in some underground
channel and is seen no more.
Many a pleasant valley in the range country is made desolate by
being destitute of any surface spring or running brook, or water
that can be found at any depth. Occasionally a hidden fountain
is struck by digging, but it is only by the merest chance. Wells
have been dug to great depths in perfectly dry ground in an eager
search for water without finding it, and such an experience is
usually equivalent to a failure and the making of a useless bill
of expense.
A never-failing spring of good water in sufficient quantity to
supply the needs of a ranch in the range country is of rare
occurrence, considering the large territory to be supplied. Only
here and there at long intervals is such a spring found, and it
is always a desirable and valuable property. It makes an oasis
in the desert that is an agreeable change from the surrounding
barrenness, and furnishes its owner, if properly utilized, a
comfortable subsistence for himself and herds. His fields
produce without fail and the increase of his flocks and herds is
sure.
The isolated rancher who is well located is independent. He is
in no danger of being crowded by his neighbors nor his range
becoming over stocked with stray cattle. His water right gives
him undisputed control of the adjacent range, even though he does
not own all the land, which is an unwritten law of the range and
respected by all cattlemen.
Because of the scarcity of water the range country is sparsely
settled and always will be until more water is provided by
artificial means for irrigation. Even then a large portion of
the land will be worthless for any other purpose than grazing,
and stock-growing on the open range in Arizona will continue to
be a staple industry in the future as it has been in the past.
The range is practically all occupied and, in many places, is
already over stocked. Where more cattle are run on a range than
its grass and water can support there is bound to be some loss.
In stocking a range an estimate should be made of its carrying
capacity in a bad year rather than in a good one, as no range can
safely carry more cattle than it can support in the poorest year;
like a chain, it is no stronger than its weakest link.
A good range is sometimes destroyed by the prairie dog. Wherever
he establishes a colony the grass soon disappears. He burrows in
the ground and a group of such holes is called a dog town. Like
the jack-rabbit he can live without water and is thus able to
keep his hold on the desert. The only way to get rid of him is
to kill him, which is usually done by the wholesale with poison.
His flesh is fine eating, which the Navajo knows if the white man
does not. The Navajo considers him a dainty morsel which is
particularly relished by the sick. If a patient can afford the
price, he can usually procure a prairie dog in exchange for two
sheep.
The Navajo is an adept at capturing this little animal. The
hunter places a small looking-glass near the hole and, in
concealment near by, he patiently awaits developments.
When the prairie dog comes out of his hole to take an airing
he immediately sees his reflection in the glass and takes it
for an intruder. In an instant he is ready for a fight and
pounces upon his supposed enemy to kill or drive him away.
While the prairie dog is thus engaged wrestling with his
shadow or reflection the hunter shoots him at close range with
his bow and arrow--never with a gun, for if wounded by a
bullet he is sure to drop into his hole and is lost, but the
arrow transfixes his body and prevents him from getting away.
He has been hunted so much in the Navajo country that he has
become very scarce.[1]
[1] This statement is made on the authority of Mr. F. W. Volz,
who lives at Canon Diablo, and is familiar with the customs of
the Navajos.
Much of the ranch country in southern Arizona is destitute of
trees, and shade, therefore, is scarce. Upon the high mountains
and plateaus of northern Arizona there are great forests of pine
and plenty of shade. But few cattle range there in comparison to
the large numbers that graze on the lower levels further south.
What little tree growth there is on the desert is stunted and
supplies but scant shade. In the canons some large cottonwood,
sycamore and walnut trees can be found; upon the foot hills the
live oak and still higher up the mountain the pine. Cattle
always seek the shade and if there are no trees they will lie
down in the shade of a bush or anything that casts a shadow. The
cattle are so eager for shade that if they can find nothing
better they will crowd into the narrow ribbon of shade that is
cast by a columnar cactus or telegraph pole and seem to be
satisfied with ever so little if only shade is touched.
Twenty years ago before there were many cattle on the
southwestern range, the gramma grass stood knee high everywhere
all over that country and seemed to be an inexhaustible supply of
feed for an unlimited number of cattle during an indefinite term
of years. It was not many years, however, after the large herds
were turned loose on the range until the grass was all gone and
the ground, except in a few favored spots, left nearly as bare of
grass as the traveled road. At the present time whatever grass
there is must grow each year which, even in a favorable year, is
never heavy. If the summer rains fail, no grass whatever can
grow and the cattle are without feed. The grass about the
springs and water holes is first to disappear and then the cattle
must go farther and farther from water to find any grass. When
cattle are compelled to travel over long distances in going from
grass to water, they naturally grow thin from insufficient food
and are worn out by the repeated long journeys. A cow that is
thin and weak will postpone making the trip as long as possible--
two, three and even four days in the hottest weather she will
wait before attempting the trip. At last, when the poor creature
reaches water, she is so famished from thirst that she drinks too
much. In her feeble condition she is unable to carry the
enormous load of water which she drinks and lies down by the side
of the friendly water trough to die from exhaustion.
If cattle are turned loose upon a new range they act strange and
are inclined to scatter. Until they become accustomed to the
change they should be close herded, but after they are once
located they are not liable to stray very far.
As they are only worked by men on horseback they are not
frightened at the sight of a horse and rider; but let a stranger
approach them on foot, in a moment after he is sighted every head
is raised in surprise and alarm and the pedestrian is, indeed,
fortunate if the herd turns tail and scampers off instead of
running him down and tramping him under foot in a wild stampede.
Nowhere else can be found a finer sight than is witnessed in the
range country. In every direction broad meadows stretch away to
the horizon where numberless cattle roam and are the embodiment
of bovine happiness and contentment. Scattered about in
irregular groups they are seen at ease lying down or feeding, and
frisking about in an overflow of exuberant life. Cow paths or
trails converge from every point of the compass, that lead to
springs and water holes, on which the cattle travel.
It is an interesting sight to watch the cattle maneuver as they
form in line, single file, ready for the march. They move
forward in an easy, deliberate walk one behind the other and may
be seen coming and going in every direction. They make their
trips with great regularity back and forth from grass to water,
and vice versa, going to water in the morning and back to the
feeding grounds at night.
Cows have a curious fashion, sometimes, of hiding out their
calves. When a cow with a young calf starts for water she
invariably hides her calf in a bunch of grass or clump of bushes
in some secluded spot, where it lies down and remains perfectly
quiet until the mother returns. I have many times while riding
the range found calves thus secreted that could scarcely be
aroused or frightened away, which behavior was so different from
their usual habit of being shy and running off at the slightest
provocation. The calf under such circumstances seems to
understand that it is "not at home," and cannot be seen.
At another time a lot of calves are left in charge of a young cow
or heifer that seems to understand her responsibility and guards
her charge carefully. The young calves are too weak to make the
long trip to water and thus, through the maternal instinct of the
mother cow, she provides for the care of her offspring almost as
if she were human.
After viewing such a large pasture as the open range presents,
which is limitless in extent, the small fenced field or pasture
lot of a few acres on the old home farm back east, that looked so
large to boyish eyes in years gone by, dwindles by comparison
into insignificance and can never again be restored to its former
greatness.
CHAPTER IV
RANCH LIFE
Ranch life on the open range may be somewhat wild and lonely, but
it is as free and independent to the rancher as it is to his
unfettered cattle that roam at will over a thousand hills. As a
place of residence for a family of women and children it is
undesirable because of its isolation and lack of social and
educational privileges; but for a man who cares to "rough it" it
has a rare fascination. Its freedom may mean lonesomeness and
its independence monotony, yet it is very enjoyable for a season.
Like anything else it may become wearing and wearisome if
continued too long without a change, but its novelty has a charm
that is irresistible.
Ranch life is untrammeled by social conventionalities and is not
burdened by business cares, but is an easy, natural life that is
free from all kinds of pressure. It relieves the tension of an
artificial existence, and worry and vexation are forgotten. Time
loses its rapid flight and once more jogs on at an easy pace; and
its complete isolation and quiet gives nature a chance to rest
and recuperate
"Away from the dwellings of careworn men."
The environment of ranch life is highly conducive to good health.
The scenery is delightful, the air pure and bracing, the food
wholesome and nutritious, the couch comfortable and the sleep
refreshing. Walking and riding furnish the necessary exercise
that nature demands. Indeed, there is no better exercise to be
found than riding horseback to stimulate sluggish organs, or
excite to healthy action the bodily functions. It stirs the
liver, causes deep breathing, strengthens the heart and
circulation, tones the nerves and makes an appetite that waits on
good digestion. An outdoor life is often better than medicine
and is a panacea for the "ills that human flesh is heir to."
The ranchman, if he is in tune with his surroundings, finds a
never-failing spring of pleasure. If he is company for himself
he is well entertained and if he is a lover of nature he finds
interesting subjects for study upon every hand. His wants are
few and simple and the free life that he lives develops in him a
strong and sturdy manhood. He is the picture of health and is
happy and contented as the day is long.
However, such a life does not suit everyone, as individual tastes
differ. Prejudice also exerts an influence and is apt to
estimate all western life as crude and undesirable, being in a
transition state of change from savagery to civilization. Be it
even so; for, if the savage had never existed to furnish the
ancestry that civilized man boasts, civilization would not have
been possible. It is only natural that this should be so as, in
the order of nature, evolution begins at the bottom and works up.
There is perhaps no condition in life that can be called perfect,
yet of the two extremes we choose to believe that civilization is
preferable to barbarism; but an intermediate state has the
advantage over both extremes by avoiding native crudeness upon
the one hand and excessive refinement upon the other, both being
equally undesirable.
Happiness, which we all profess to seek, exists in some degree
everywhere but we are always striving to acquire something more.
In our constant struggle for improvement, progress undoubtedly is
made in the right direction. With refinement comes increased
sensibility and an enlarged capacity for enjoyment. But, such a
state in itself is not one of unalloyed bliss, as might be
supposed, since it is marred by its antithesis, an increased
amount of sickness and suffering, which is the inevitable penalty
of civilization. In such a progression the pleasures of life
become more, but the acuteness of suffering is also increased.
The mistake lies in the fact that in our eager pursuit after the
artificial we forget nature and not until we acquire a surfeit of
that which is artificial and grow weary of the shams and deceits
of the world do we stop and think or turn again to nature to find
the truth.
In the early days the frontier was the rendezvous for rough and
lawless characters of every description. That time has gone by
never to return in the history of the nation, as the rustlers
have either reformed and become good citizens or long ago left
the country by the lead or hemp routes. The change in the times
has been such that never again will it be possible to return to
the conditions that existed in the early settlement of the west
which gave to desperadoes a safe hiding place.
The people now living on what is left of the frontier will, as a
class, compare favorably with those of any other community.
There may be small surface polish, as the world goes, but there
is much genuine gold of true character that needs only a little
rubbing to make it shine.
The population being sparse there is comparatively little
opportunity or inclination for wrongdoing. Whatever anybody does
is noticed at once and everything that happens is immediately
found out. The favorite haunt of vice and crime is not in a
sparsely settled community, public opinion to the contrary
notwithstanding, but in the centers of population, in, our large
cities where temptation to do evil is strong and dark deeds find
ready concealment in the mingling and confusion of the throng.
The ranchman deserves to be correctly judged by his true
character and not by any false standard that is artfully designed
to misrepresent him or to unjustly bring him into contempt. He
may have a rough exterior, not intending to pose in a model
fashion plate, but in real life where he is tried there is found
under his coarse garb a heart that is honest and true which
responds with sympathy and kindness for anyone in distress; and
his generosity and hospitality are proverbial and stand without a
rival. Men from every position in life, including college
graduates and professional men, are engaged in ranching and
whoever takes them to be a lot of toughs and ignoramuses is
egregiously mistaken.
The strength, virtue and intelligence of the nation is found in
its large middle class of laboring people that is largely
composed of farmers and mechanics, men who work with their hands
and live natural lives and are so busy in some useful occupation
that they have no time to think of mischief. In this favored
land of freedom all of our great men have been of the common
people and struggled up from some humble position. A life of
toil may seem to be hard, but it conforms to nature and natural
laws and favors the development of the best that is in man; and
he who shirks toil misses his opportunity. Whatever tends to
wean men from work only weakens them. Luxury and indolence
travel on the downward road of degeneracy. They may make
pleasant temporary indulgence, but are fatal to ultimate success.
Locomotion on a ranch consists almost entirely of horseback
riding as walking is too slow and tiresome and wheeled conveyance
is often inconvenient or impossible for cross-country driving.
When the ranchman mounts his horse in the morning to make his
daily rounds he has a clear field before him. He is "monarch of
all he surveys" and practically owns the earth, since his
neighbors live many miles away and his road leads in any
direction clear to the horizon.
The average ranch is not intended to furnish luxuries, but to
serve the best interests of the business in hand, that of growing
cattle. It is usually a "stag camp" composed entirely of men who
occupy a rude cabin near some convenient spring or stream of
water, where they keep house in ranch style and live after a
fashion. No money is ever expended in unnecessary improvements,
but every dollar spent in repairs is put where it will do the
most good. The house furnishings are all of the plainest kind
and intended to meet only present necessities. The larder is not
supplied with luxuries nor is the cuisine prolific of dainties,
but there is always on hand a supply of the necessaries of life.
Every man has his particular work to perform, but unless it be on
some large ranch where the force of men employed is sufficiently
large to require the services of a chef, he is also expected to
assist in keeping house. It is an unwritten law of the ranch
that everybody on the place must share in this work and if anyone
shirks his duty he must either promptly mend his ways or else
quit his job. It is seldom, however, that this rule has to be
enforced, as the necessities of the case require that every man
shall be able to prepare a meal as he is liable to be left alone
for days or weeks at a time when he must either cook or starve.
The equipment of the cowboy is his horse and reata. They are his
constant companions and serve his every purpose. His work
includes much hard riding, which he greatly enjoys if no accident
befalls him. But dashing on in heedless speed while rounding up
cattle he is ever liable to mishaps, as his horse, although sure
footed, may at any time step into a prairie dogs' hole or stumble
on a loose rock that is liable to throw both horse and rider to
the ground in a heap. He is, indeed, fortunate if he escapes
unhurt, or only receives a few bruises and not a fractured bone
or broken neck.
His work consists in riding over the range and marking the
condition of the cattle; line riding to prevent the stock from
straying; looking after the springs and water holes and keeping
them clean; branding calves, gathering steers for market and
assisting in the general work of the round-up. Every day has its
duty and every season its particular work, yet there are times of
considerable leisure during the year. After his day's work is
done he repairs to the ranch house, or to some outlying camp,
whichever happens to be nearest when night overtakes him, for
every large ranch has one or more such camps posted at some
convenient point that furnishes temporary shelter and
refreshment, where he rests and eats his frugal meal with a
relish that only health and rough riding can give.
If he is at the home ranch in winter he spends the long evenings
before an open hearth fire of blazing logs and by the light of
the fire and the doubtful aid of a tallow dip lounges the hours
away in reading and cogitation; or, if in the company of
congenial companions, engages in conversation and pleasantry or
any amusement that the party may select. At an early hour he
turns in for the night and after a sound and refreshing sleep is
up and out with the dawn. After breakfast he mounts his horse
and in his striking and characteristic costume of broad sombrero,
blue flannel shirt, fringed chaperejos and jingling spurs he
rides forth to his work a perfect type of the gallant caballero.
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