Arizona Nights
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Stewart Edward White >> Arizona Nights
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I have ridden in succession through grass land, brush land,
flower land, desert. Each in turn seemed entirely to fill the
space of the plains between the mountains.
From time to time Homer halted us and detached a man. The
business of the latter was then to ride directly back to camp,
driving all cattle before him. Each was in sight of his right-
and left-hand neighbour. Thus was constructed a drag-net whose
meshes contracted as home was neared.
I was detached, when of our party only the Cattleman and Homer
remained. They would take the outside. This was the post of
honour, and required the hardest riding, for as soon as the
cattle should realise the fact of their pursuit, they would
attempt to "break" past the end and up the valley. Brown
Jug and I congratulated ourselves on an exciting morning in
prospect.
Now, wild cattle know perfectly well what a drive means, and they
do not intend to get into a round-up if they can help it. Were
it not for the two facts, that they are afraid of a mounted man,
and cannot run quite so fast as a horse, I do not know how the
cattle business would be conducted. As soon as a band of them
caught sight of any one of us, they curled their tails and away
they went at a long, easy lope that a domestic cow would stare at
in wonder. This was all very well; in fact we yelled and
shrieked and otherwise uttered cow-calls to keep them going, to
"get the cattle started," as they say. But pretty soon a little
band of the many scurrying away before our thin line, began to
bear farther and farther to the east. When in their judgment
they should have gained an opening, they would turn directly back
and make a dash for liberty. Accordingly the nearest cowboy
clapped spurs to his horse and pursued them.
It was a pretty race. The cattle ran easily enough, with long,
springy jumps that carried them over the ground faster than
appearances would lead one to believe. The cow-pony, his nose
stretched out, his ears slanted, his eyes snapping with joy of
the chase, flew fairly "belly to earth." The rider sat slightly
forward, with the cowboy's loose seat. A whirl of dust,
strangely insignificant against the immensity of a desert
morning, rose from the flying group. Now they disappeared in a
ravine, only to scramble out again the next instant, pace
undiminished. The rider merely rose slightly and threw up his
elbows to relieve the jar of the rough gully. At first the
cattle seemed to hold their, own, but soon the horse began to
gain. In a short time he had come abreast of the leading animal.
The latter stopped short with a snort, dodged back, and set out
at right angles to his former course. From a dead run the pony
came to a stand in two fierce plunges, doubled like a shot, and
was off on the other tack. An unaccustomed rider would here have
lost his seat. The second dash was short. With a final shake of
the head, the steers turned to the proper course in the direction
of the ranch. The pony dropped unconcernedly to the shuffling
jog of habitual progression.
Far away stretched the arc of our cordon. The most distant
rider was a speck, and the cattle ahead of him were like maggots
endowed with a smooth, swift onward motion. As yet the herd had
not taken form; it was still too widely scattered. Its units, in
the shape of small bunches, momently grew in numbers. The
distant plains were crawling and alive with minute creatures
making toward a common tiny centre.
Immediately in our front the cattle at first behaved very well.
Then far down the long gentle slope I saw a break for the upper
valley. The manikin that represented Homer at once became even
smaller as it departed in pursuit. The Cattleman moved down to
cover Homer's territory until he should return--and I in turn
edged farther to the right. Then another break from another
bunch. The Cattleman rode at top speed to head it. Before long
he disappeared in the distant mesquite. I found myself in sole
charge of a front three miles long.
The nearest cattle were some distance ahead, and trotting along
at a good gait. As they had not yet discovered the chance left
open by unforeseen circumstance, I descended and took in on my
cinch while yet there was time. Even as I mounted, an impatient
movement on the part of experienced Brown Jug told me that the
cattle had seen their opportunity.
I gathered the reins and spoke to the horse. He needed no
further direction, but set off at a wide angle, nicely
calculated, to intercept the truants. Brown Jug was a powerful
beast. The spring of his leap was as whalebone. The yellow
earth began to stream past like water. Always the pace increased
with a growing thunder of hoofs. It seemed that nothing could
turn us from the straight line, nothing check the headlong
momentum of our rush. My eyes filled with tears from the wind of
our going. Saddle strings streamed behind. Brown Jug's mane
whipped my bridle band. Dimly I was conscious of soapweed,
sacatone, mesquite, as we passed them. They were abreast and
gone before I could think of them or how they were to be dodged.
Two antelope bounded away to the left; birds rose hastily from
the grasses. A sudden chirk, chirk, chirk, rose all about me.
We were in the very centre of a prairie-dog town, but before I
could formulate in my mind the probabilities of holes and broken
legs, the chirk, chirk, chirking had fallen astern. Brown Jug
had skipped and dodged successfully.
We were approaching the cattle. They ran stubbornly and well,
evidently unwilling to be turned until the latest possible
moment. A great rage at their obstinacy took possession of us
both. A broad shallow wash crossed our way, but we plunged
through its rocks and boulders recklessly, angered at even the
slight delay they necessitated. The hardland on the other side
we greeted with joy. Brown Jug extended himself with a snort.
Suddenly a jar seemed to shake my very head loose. I found
myself staring over the horse's head directly down into a
deep and precipitous gully, the edge of which was so cunningly
concealed by the grasses as to have remained invisible to my
blurred vision. Brown Jug, however, had caught sight of it at
the last instant, and had executed one of the wonderful stops
possible only to a cow-pony.
But already the cattle had discovered a passage above, and were
scrambling down and across. Brown Jug and I, at more sober pace,
slid off the almost perpendicular bank, and out the other side.
A moment later we had headed them. They whirled, and without the
necessity of any suggestion on my part Brown Jug turned after
them, and so quickly that my stirrup actually brushed the ground.
After that we were masters. We chased the cattle far enough to
start them well in the proper direction, and then pulled down to
a walk in order to get a breath of air.
But now we noticed another band, back on the ground over which we
had just come, doubling through in the direction of Mount
Graham. A hard run set them to rights. We turned. More had
poured out from the hills. Bands were crossing everywhere,
ahead and behind. Brown Jug and I went to work.
Being an indivisible unit, we could chase only one bunch at a
time; and, while we were after one, a half dozen others would be
taking advantage of our preoccupation. We could not hold our
own. Each run after an escaping bunch had to be on a longer
diagonal. Gradually we were forced back, and back, and back; but
still we managed to hold the line unbroken. Never shall I forget
the dash and clatter of that morning. Neither Brown Jug nor I
thought for a moment of sparing horseflesh, nor of picking a
route. We made the shortest line, and paid little attention to
anything that stood in the way. A very fever of resistance
possessed us. It was like beating against a head wind, or
fighting fire, or combating in any other of the great forces of
nature. We were quite alone. The Cattleman and Homer had
vanished. To our left the men were fully occupied in marshalling
the compact brown herds that had gradually massed--for these
antagonists of mine were merely outlying remnants.
I suppose Brown Jug must have run nearly twenty miles with only
one check. Then we chased a cow some distance and into the dry
bed of a stream, where she whirled on us savagely. By luck her
horn hit only the leather of my saddle skirts, so we left her;
for when a cow has sense enough to "get on the peck," there is no
driving her farther. We gained nothing, and had to give ground,
but we succeeded in holding a semblance of order, so that the
cattle did not break and scatter far and wide. The sun had by
now well risen, and was beginning to shine hot. Brown Jug still
ran gamely and displayed as much interest as ever, but he was
evidently tiring. We were both glad to see Homer's grey showing
in the fringe of mesquite.
Together we soon succeeded in throwing the cows into the main
herd. And, strangely enough, as soon as they had joined a
compact band of their fellows, their wildness left them and,
convoyed by outsiders, they set themselves to plodding
energetically toward the home ranch.
As my horse was somewhat winded, I joined the "drag" at the rear.
Here by course of natural sifting soon accumulated all the lazy,
gentle, and sickly cows, and the small calves. The difficulty
now was to prevent them from lagging and dropping out. To that
end we indulged in a great variety of the picturesque cow-calls
peculiar to the cowboy. One found an old tin can which by the
aid of a few pebbles he converted into a very effective rattle.
The dust rose in clouds and eddied in the sun. We slouched
easily in our saddles. The cowboys compared notes as to the
brands they had seen. Our ponies shuffled along, resting, but
always ready for a dash in chase of an occasional bull calf or
yearling with independent ideas of its own.
Thus we passed over the country, down the long gentle slope to
the "sink" of the valley, whence another long gentle slope ran to
the base of the other ranges. At greater or lesser distances we
caught the dust, and made out dimly the masses of the other herds
collected by our companions, and by the party under Jed Parker.
They went forward toward the common centre, with a slow
ruminative movement, and the dust they raised went with them.
Little by little they grew plainer to us, and the home ranch,
hitherto merely a brown shimmer in the distance, began to take on
definition as the group of buildings, windmills,and corrals we
knew. Miniature horsemen could be seen galloping forward to the
open white plain where the herd would be held. Then the mesquite
enveloped us; and we knew little more, save the anxiety lest we
overlook laggards in the brush, until we came out on the edge of
that same white plain.
Here were more cattle, thousands of them, and billows of dust,
and a great bellowing, and slim, mounted figures riding and
shouting ahead of the herd. Soon they succeeded in turning the
leaders back. These threw into confusion those that followed.
In a few moments the cattle had stopped. A cordon of horsemen
sat at equal distances holding them in.
"Pretty good haul," said the man next to me; "a good five
thousand head."
CHAPTER SIX
CUTTING OUT
It was somewhere near noon by the time we had bunched and held
the herd of some four or five thousand head in the smooth, wide
flat, free from bushes and dog holes. Each sat at ease on his
horse facing the cattle, watching lazily the clouds of dust and
the shifting beasts, but ready at any instant to turn back the
restless or independent individuals that might break for liberty.
Out of the haze came Homer, the round-up captain, on an easy
lope. As he passed successively the sentries he delivered to
each a low command, but without slacking pace. Some of those
spoken to wheeled their horses and rode away. The others settled
themselves in their saddles and began to roll cigarettes.
"Change horses; get something to eat," said he to me; so I swung
after the file traveling at a canter over the low swells beyond
the plain.
The remuda had been driven by its leaders to a corner of the
pasture's wire fence, and there held. As each man arrived he
dismounted, threw off his saddle, and turned his animal loose.
Then he flipped a loop in his rope and disappeared in the eddying
herd. The discarded horse, with many grunts, indulged in a
satisfying roll, shook himself vigorously, and walked slowly
away. His labour was over for the day, and he knew it, and took
not the slightest trouble to get out of the way of the men with
the swinging ropes.
Not so the fresh horses, however. They had no intention of being
caught, if they could help it, but dodged and twisted, hid and
doubled behind the moving screen of their friends. The latter,
seeming as usual to know they were not wanted, made no effort to
avoid the men, which probably accounted in great measure for the
fact that the herd as a body remained compact, in spite of the
cowboys threading it, and in spite of the lack of an enclosure.
Our horses caught, we saddled as hastily as possible; and then at
the top speed of our fresh and eager ponies we swept down on the
chuck wagon. There we fell off our saddles and descended on the
meat and bread like ravenous locusts on a cornfield. The ponies
stood where we left them, "tied to the ground", the
cattle-country fashion.
As soon as a man had stoked up for the afternoon he rode away.
Some finished before others, so across the plain formed an
endless procession of men returning to the herd, and of those
whom they replaced coming for their turn at the grub.
We found the herd quiet. Some were even lying down, chewing
their cuds as peacefully as any barnyard cows. Most, however,
stood ruminative, or walked slowly to and fro in the confines
allotted by the horsemen, so that the herd looked from a distance
like a brown carpet whose pattern was constantly changing--a
dusty brown carpet in the process of being beaten. I relieved
one of the watchers, and settled myself for a wait.
At this close inspection the different sorts of cattle showed
more distinctly their characteristics. The cows and calves
generally rested peacefully enough, the calf often lying down
while the mother stood guard over it. Steers, however, were more
restless. They walked ceaselessly, threading their way in and
out among the standing cattle, pausing in brutish amazement at
the edge of the herd, and turning back immediately to endless
journeyings. The bulls, excited by so much company forced on
their accustomed solitary habit, roared defiance at each other
until the air fairly trembled. Occasionally two would clash
foreheads. Then the powerful animals would push and wrestle,
trying for a chance to gore. The decision of supremacy was a
question of but a few minutes, and a bloody topknot the worst
damage. The defeated one side-stepped hastily and clumsily out
of reach, and then walked away.
Most of the time all we had to do was to sit our horses and watch
these things, to enjoy the warm bath of the Arizona sun, and to
converse with our next neighbours. Once in a while some
enterprising cow, observing the opening between the men, would
start to walk out. Others would fall in behind her until the
movement would become general. Then one of us would swing his
leg off the pommel and jog his pony over to head them off. They
would return peacefully enough.
But one black muley cow, with a calf as black and muley as
herself, was more persistent. Time after time, with infinite
patience, she tried it again the moment my back was turned. I
tried driving her far into the herd. No use; she always
returned. Quirtings and stones had no effect on her mild and
steady persistence.
"She's a San Simon cow," drawled my neighbour. "Everybody knows
her. She's at every round-up, just naturally raisin' hell."
When the last man had returned from chuck, Homer made the
dispositions for the cut. There were present probably thirty men
from the home ranches round about, and twenty representing owners
at a distance, here to pick up the strays inevitable to the
season's drift. The round-up captain appointed two men to hold
the cow-and-calf cut, and two more to hold the steer cut.
Several of us rode into the herd, while the remainder retained
their positions as sentinels to hold the main body of cattle in
shape.
Little G and I rode slowly among the cattle looking everywhere.
The animals moved sluggishly aside to give us passage, and closed
in as sluggishly behind us, so that we were always closely hemmed
in wherever we went. Over the shifting sleek backs, through the
eddying clouds of dust, I could make out the figures of my
companions moving slowly, apparently aimlessly, here and there.
Our task for the moment was to search out the unbranded J H
calves. Since in ranks so closely crowded it would be physically
impossible actually to see an animal's branded flank, we depended
entirely on the ear-marks.
Did you ever notice how any animal, tame or wild, always points
his ears inquiringly in the direction of whatever interests or
alarms him? Those ears are for the moment his most prominent
feature. So when a brand is quite indistinguishable because, as
now, of press of numbers, or, as in winter, from extreme length
of hair, the cropped ears tell plainly the tale of ownership. As
every animal is so marked when branded, it follows that an uncut
pair of ears means that its owner has never felt the iron.
So, now we had to look first of all for calves with uncut ears.
After discovering one, we had to ascertain his ownership by
examining the ear-marks of his mother, by whose side he was sure,
in this alarming multitude, to be clinging faithfully.
Calves were numerous, and J H cows everywhere to be seen, so in
somewhat less than ten seconds I had my eye on a mother and son.
Immediately I turned Little G in their direction. At the slap of
my quirt against the stirrup, all the cows immediately about me
shrank suspiciously aside. Little G stepped forward daintily,
his nostrils expanding, his ears working back and forth, trying
to the best of his ability to understand which animals I had
selected. The cow and her calf turned in toward the centre of
the herd. A touch of the reins guided the pony. At once he
comprehended. From that time on he needed no further directions.
Cautiously, patiently, with great skill, he forced the cow
through the press toward the edge of the herd. It had to be done
very quietly, at a foot pace, so as to alarm neither the objects
of pursuit nor those surrounding them. When the cow turned back,
Little G somehow happened always in her way. Before she knew it
she was at the outer edge of the herd. There she found herself,
with a group of three or four companions, facing the open plain.
Instinctively she sought shelter. I felt Little G's muscles
tighten beneath me. The moment for action had come. Before the
cow had a chance to dodge among her companions the pony was upon
her like a thunderbolt. She broke in alarm, trying desperately
to avoid the rush. There ensued an exciting contest of dodgings,
turnings,and doublings. Wherever she turned Little G was before
her. Some of his evolutions were marvellous. All I had to do
was to sit my saddle, and apply just that final touch of judgment
denied even the wisest of the lower animals. Time and again the
turn was so quick that the stirrup swept the ground. At last the
cow, convinced of the uselessness of further effort to return,
broke away on a long lumbering run to the open plain. She was
stopped and held by the men detailed, and so formed the nucleus
of the new cut-herd. Immediately Little G, his ears working in
conscious virtue, jog-trotted back into the herd, ready for
another.
After a dozen cows had been sent across to the cut-herd, the
work simplified. Once a cow caught sight of this new band, she
generally made directly for it, head and tail up. After the
first short struggle to force her from the herd, all I had to do
was to start her in the proper direction and keep her at it until
her decision was fixed. If she was too soon left to her own
devices, however, she was likely to return. An old cowman knows
to a second just the proper moment to abandon her.
Sometimes, in spite of our best efforts a cow succeeded in
circling us and plunging into the main herd. The temptation was
then strong to plunge in also, and to drive her out by main
force; but the temptation had to be resisted. A dash into the
thick of it might break the whole band. At once, of his own
accord, Little G dropped to his fast, shuffling walk, and again
we addressed ourselves to the task of pushing her gently to the
edge.
This was all comparatively simple--almost any pony is fast enough
for the calf cut--but now Homer gave orders for the steer cut to
begin, and steers are rapid and resourceful and full of natural
cussedness. Little G and I were relieved by Windy Bill, and
betook ourselves to the outside of the herd.
Here we had leisure to observe the effects that up to this moment
we had ourselves been producing. The herd, restless by reason of
the horsemen threading it, shifted, gave ground, expanded, and
contracted, so that its shape and size were always changing in
the constant area guarded by the sentinel cowboys. Dust arose
from these movements, clouds of it, to eddy and swirl, thicken
and dissipate in the currents of air. Now it concealed all but
the nearest dimly-outlined animals; again it parted in rifts
through which mistily we discerned the riders moving in and out
of the fog; again it lifted high and thin, so that we saw in
clarity the whole herd and the outriders and the mesas far away.
As the afternoon waned, long shafts of sun slanted through this
dust. It played on men and beasts magically, expanding them to
the dimensions of strange genii, appearing and effacing
themselves in the billows of vapour from some enchanted bottle.
We on the outside found our sinecure of hot noon-tide filched
from us by the cooler hours. The cattle, wearied of standing,
and perhaps somewhat hungry and thirsty, grew more and more
impatient. We rode continually back and forth, turning the slow
movement in on itself. Occasionally some particularly
enterprising cow would conclude that one or another of the
cut-herds would suit her better than this mill of turmoil. She
would start confidently out, head and tail up, find herself
chased back, get stubborn on the question, and lead her pursuer a
long, hard run before she would return to her companions. Once
in a while one would even have to be roped and dragged back. For
know, before something happens to you, that you can chase a cow
safely only until she gets hot and
winded. Then she stands her ground and gets emphatically "on the
peck."
I remember very well when I first discovered this. It was after I
had had considerable cow work, too. I thought of cows as I had
always seen them--afraid of a horseman, easy to turn with the
pony, and willing to be chased as far as necessary to the work.
Nobody told me anything different. One day we were making a
drive in an exceedingly broken country. I was bringing in a
small bunch I had discovered in a pocket of the hills, but was
excessively annoyed by one old cow that insisted on breaking
back. In the wisdom of further experience, I now conclude that
she probably had a calf in the brush. Finally she got away
entirely. After starting the bunch well ahead, I went after her.
Well, the cow and I ran nearly side by side for as much as half a
mile at top speed. She declined to be headed. Finally she fell
down and was so entirely winded that she could not get up.
"Now, old girl, I've got you!" said I, and set myself to urging
her to her feet.
The pony acted somewhat astonished, and suspicious of the job.
Therein he knew a lot more than I did. But I insisted, and, like
a good pony, he obeyed. I yelled at the cow, and slapped my bat,
and used my quirt. When she had quite recovered her wind, she
got slowly to her feet--and charged me in a most determined
manner.
Now, a bull, or a steer, is not difficult to dodge. He lowers
his head, shuts his eyes, and comes in on one straight rush. But
a cow looks to see what she is doing; her eyes are open every
minute, and it overjoys her to take a side hook at you even when
you succeed in eluding her direct charge.
The pony I was riding did his best, but even then could not avoid
a sharp prod that would have ripped him up had not my leather
bastos intervened. Then we retired to a distance in order to
plan further; but we did not succeed in inducing that cow to
revise her ideas, so at last we left her. When, in some chagrin,
I mentioned to the round-up captain the fact that I had skipped
one animal, he merely laughed.
"Why, kid," said he, "you can't do nothin' with a cow that gets
on the prod that away 'thout you ropes her; and what could you do
with her out there if you DID rope her?"
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