CHAPTER XIX

COW HORSES AND THEIR WORK

The next day they were cutting again. Donald was active and tried to help, though he accomplished but little because he lacked real knowledge of the work. But if he did not himself do much, he at least saw many things done.

Of these one of the most interesting was Vicente's handling of a fighting steer. Charley Powell had cut out and was trying to drive the animal, but it stopped to fight. It would not move but stood and faced the horse and rider. Presently Vicente came up and, after a word or two with Charley, rode around behind the steer while Charley ran his horse close by the animal's head to try to make it charge. On his second dash by it the steer put down its head and rushed after the horse, but before it had made half a dozen jumps Vicente's rope had passed over its horns. He wound the rope around his saddle-horn and as he drew the rein his horse set its forelegs and braced itself in real picture-book fashion; the rope tightened and the steer turned a somersault and slammed down on the earth with tremendous force. Vicente sprang from the saddle, leaving the little horse bearing back with all its weight against the rope to hold the steer, ran forward to the animal and in a moment, as it seemed, had hog-tied it. It was then left on the prairie to think the matter over, while Vicente and Charley Powell went off to their work.

That night about the fire, Donald could not say enough in praise of the work of the cow horses and their seeming understanding of what was required of them; and the others assented to his enthusiastic declaration that a well-broken cow horse is interesting to watch and shows great intelligence in doing its part of the work of handling the cattle. Joe and Vicente, however, said little, but at length in response to some direct appeal Joe said:

"Well, boys, there's no denying that these horses know a heap, and that some of 'em do their work mighty well. I expect if it wasn't for the horses there wouldn't be any cattle business; but honest, and without wanting to blow off my country or any other country, you ought to see the horses in the South, whether it's southern California, or Texas. I think maybe they're not always as strong as the mountain horses up here, but they're a whole lot quicker. What's more, it seems to me they understand their work better and do it better; and if that's so, here's one reason for it: The cattle down there are different--at least they used to be in old times, and I reckon they are yet. Most of you know what an old-fashioned Texas long-horn is: mostly head, horns and legs--light, quick on his feet, and a great hand to dodge. Now those Texas horses, and the southern California horses too, have been broke to handle these cattle; and to be any good they've got to be fast, quick to turn and ready to meet any move the steer makes. Up here, you've got a great deal better class of cattle: they're heavier and make better beef, and that means that they're slower--more like barnyard cattle. They don't handle themselves anything like what those Texans do. Texas cattle put the horse and his rider more on their mettle than these grade cattle. They call for greater quickness and readiness; and though I am a Wyoming cowboy now, I'm bound to say that the best cow hands I've ever seen have been down in the South and Southwest."

"I guess that's gospel," Hugh said. "I saw something of the cattle business down on the plains when the cattle business was fairly new there, and when all the cattle came up over the trail from Texas, and they certainly did have good cow horses down there. As Joe says, they were quicker, and readier, as it seems to me, than the horses we have up here. Of course that don't mean that they were better horses, but I suppose it does mean that the Texas horses had been, as you might say, just raised on cattle. For generations that was all that they'd been doing and they were quick as a cat on their feet. It's always seemed to me that these mountain horses are much more awkward."

"I've never seen those Texas horses," said Powell; "but I didn't suppose that they were nearly as strong as our horses here; and I didn't suppose that they could hold cattle nearly as well."

"No," replied Joe, "they aren't as strong as these horses, but for any work like cutting, where you need quickness, they can handle themselves mighty well."

"Not all those horses," explained Vicente, "make good cow horses. Some quick, some slow. But good horse, the more you ride him the better he do his work. Seems to learn things."

"They used to tell about a wonderful cow horse they had down on the North Platte a few years ago," said Hugh. "I heard about him one time from some punchers I saw in North Platte City, when I was coming west two or three years ago. They said he belonged to the Bosler outfit. Maybe you've seen him, Joe?"

"Oh, well," answered Joe, "if you're going to talk about Old Blue, I don't believe there ever was a horse to be compared with him. He was in a class by himself. In those days he was known all through western Nebraska and eastern Wyoming. I guess he was the most noted cow horse there ever was in that country. He was a Texas horse and, I always heard, came up with one of the drives. I don't suppose there was ever a horse like him in all this northern country. I saw him many times and I happened to be along on one of the round-ups when he did something that was talked of for years and maybe is talked of yet down in that country; I mean the time he cut out a steer all by his lonesome.

"Old Blue belonged to George Bosler, who was an active cow man and rode the horse as one of his string. I reckon Bosler was prouder of that horse than of anything else he had, and he never got tired of telling about the horse and how much it knew and what it could do.

"You know Buffalo Bill had an interest in a bunch of cattle up north of the Platte; CN was the brand. Cody and North owned the cattle and they had places up on the Dismal River."

"Hold on," interrupted Hugh; "you can't tell me about that! I used to work up there."

"Is that so?" said Joe. "That must have been before I worked up at Bratt's.

"Well, Cody was along with us on one of the round-ups, and Bosler was telling him all about Old Blue, and among other things he said that Blue knew the Bosler brand. Of course, Cody laughed at him and so I guess did most everybody else; but George Bosler said he'd prove it, and he'd prove it by riding his horse into the bunch and cutting out an animal without a bridle on his horse, so that he couldn't guide it. Well, everybody thought he must be drunk when he said that. But he just got on his horse and rode into the bunch of cattle, and as he rode in among them, he reached forward and pulled the bridle off his horse. The horse walked around among the cattle, looking at them with his ears pricked forward, as though hunting for something, and pretty soon he pointed his nose toward a big Texas steer and began to push him out to the edge of the bunch. You'll hardly believe it, but that steer had the Bosler brand on him!

"The steer did not want to go out of the bunch and kept trying to break back, and the horse had a hard time to keep him going; but he kept right after him, and did succeed in working him out to the edge of the bunch, and all this without any guidance at all by the man, except what Bosler may have given with his knees. It was a wonderful sight, and by the time the steer was out of the bunch 'most all the men had stopped their work and were watching.

"But this wasn't a patch on what came afterward. When the horse got the steer outside, the steer turned to fight; and the two stood facing each other. The steer wanted to get back among the cattle; the horse wanted to drive him over to the Bosler bunch. All the time the steer was threatening with his horns, and the horse kept moving around from side to side to keep in front of the steer and yet not let it hook him.

"They maneuvered that way for quite a little while, and then, all of a sudden when the horse saw his chance, he made a big jump--twenty feet clear, I believe--and got his breast right against the steer's neck in such a position that the steer could not hook him. Then he began to push the steer over toward the other bunch of cattle, where he wanted to take it. The steer did not want to go, and braced itself; and the horse just pushed. It was fearful hard work. He would push and push and push as far as he could, until he was tired out; then he'd stand and rest for a few minutes, while the sweat dropped down; and then he'd begin pushing the steer again, until finally he pushed him to the edge of the other bunch of cattle. All the time the steer was trying to twist around so as to use his horns, but the horse worked it so that he never got touched.

"Long before this, all the round-up work had stopped, and all the men--I guess there must have been two hundred and fifty of 'em--were watching the horse and wondering at him. I reckon the oldest cow man there had never seen anything like that before.

"After he'd got the steer over to the edge of the other bunch and where he wanted it, of course Old Blue had to figure out some way to get away from the steer without getting hurt. We were all wondering how he'd do it, and before long we could see him getting ready, and could figure on what he was going to do. He began to draw his hind feet up under him like a cat, and at last, giving the steer a great push, he wheeled on his hind feet and made a long spring--and struck the ground running. The steer went for him, but did not come near catching him.

"That cow horse was in a class by himself. I never saw another like him, and I've seen thousands of cow horses, in Texas and California and up in this country."

"That's a wonderful story, Joe," exclaimed Donald; "almost beyond belief if you hadn't seen it yourself."

"Well," said Joe, "it's a story about a wonderful horse."

"What sort of horse was he, Joe?" asked Jack. "Was he a big horse--a half-breed?"

"No; he was a small Texas horse. I suppose he'd weigh eight hundred and fifty or nine hundred pounds. He didn't seem to have any special breeding; but his head showed a lot of intelligence."

"Nobody could tell, I suppose," Powell remarked, "whether this was a horse of very great natural intelligence, or whether he'd been ridden by a man of superior intelligence."

"No," said Joe; "I reckon that would be all guesswork. It might have been both. At all events he was a natural wonder."

"What finally became of him?" asked Jack.

"I don't know. When I left there the Boslers were still running cattle, and George Bosler owned Old Blue. The horse got to be so well known after a while that plenty of men wanted to buy him; but of course Bosler wouldn't sell him. At that time you could buy a first-class cow horse in that country for fifty dollars, but I heard that a man named Sheedy came to Bosler and offered him a check for a thousand dollars for Old Blue. But Bosler just told him that he had no price to put on the horse; he wasn't for sale."

"Were there any more horses like that down in that country?" asked Jack.

"No," said Joe, "I don't believe there was one. Good horses were plenty, but nothing that you could talk of in the same day with Old Blue. As I tell you, he was in a class by himself, and anybody that ever saw him work or knew about him would tell you the same thing. A man named Carter owned a horse--a white horse--that was said to be the second-best horse in that round-up; but he wasn't in the same class with Bosler's horse. He was a good horse and did his work well, but he couldn't be talked of with Blue. Then, up on Cody and North's ranch on the Dismal, they had an awful good horse--a short-coupled, strong dun horse that Cody sent out once after he had lost one of the ranch horses. The horse was branded JO on the left shoulder and they used to call him Old Joe. Likely you remember him, Hugh?"

"Sure," said Hugh. "He was a good horse and there wasn't much to choose between him and Carter's white horse. They were way ahead of the ordinary cow horses."

"There's one thing you don't want to forget," put in McIntyre, "and that's what Joe said a while ago. Down in that country at that time, if I understand it, there were lots more cattle than we've ever had up here, and because all these cattle were from Texas and were wild, active and quick, they had to have quick horses down there. I've heard men that have worked down there--men that came from up in this country I mean--say that in those days their horses weren't as good for cutting as the Texas horse. They were more awkward and lots slower."

"Well," said Hugh, "it's good economy for a cattleman to have the best cow horses he can get, and practically all the horses that they used down in that prairie country came up over the trail from Texas. Why on the Cody and North ranch they used to buy forty or fifty horses every year; the poorest ones were culled out and sold and then the next year another lot bought. It always seemed odd to me that so few Mexicans came up over the trail with all those cattle that came. The country down there was full of Texas cowboys, but mighty few of 'em were Mexicans. I suppose the fact that a good many of 'em could not speak English had something to do with it, and possibly in some places people did not like 'em; though I never saw anything like that except where a man was mean or had something bad about him. Pretty much all the Mexicans that I've had to do with were as loyal and faithful as white men--good workers. We've got a couple with us now and we all know what they are."

"Yes," assented McIntyre, "they make the best kind of hands; but we don't see very many of 'em in this country. I'd like it if we saw more."

For a little time nothing was said.

"Was the cattle business new in this northern country when you were down in Nebraska, Hugh?" Jack asked presently.

"It wasn't what you could call new, son, but on the other hand it hadn't been going very long. The country wasn't overstocked, and the cow men were careful and worked hard. They made lots of money."

"Do you know when it was, Hugh, that cattle first came into the country north of the Platte?"

"Well, it's hard to tell. I believe that there were cattle north of the Platte in 1867. I guess likely they were Keith's cattle, but I'm not sure. They were Texas cattle."

"And in those days," asked Donald, "was there much game in that Nebraska country?"

"Yes," said Hugh, "a good deal. Lots of antelope and deer, a good many elk and a few buffalo. I never happened to see any buffalo just there, but I saw signs of 'em more than once."

"Why, when I was working down there," said Joe, "there were still quite a lot of elk. I remember once seeing Buck Taylor come in to the CN ranch dragging a big cow elk after him. I don't remember where they caught her, but I do remember how she looked when she came. Buck was snaking her along by the neck, and somebody had put a rope on one of her hind feet, and she was dragging that. I remember, too, hearing that one of the Oliffes roped an elk one time, but somehow or other he couldn't handle him, and I believe he had to shoot him to get the rope off him."

"Yes," repeated Hugh, "there was plenty of game there then, and quite a little fur. Old Jim Carson used to make a living by trapping. Then in those days there were still a few wild horses in the country. I don't mean strays that had got away, but real wild horses, such as we used to have in old times, thirty or forty years ago."

"Is it possible!" exclaimed Donald. "I'd like to see them."

"Well," responded Hugh, "you can see pretty nearly the same thing, only about a hundred per cent, better, any time you come across a bunch of range horses on the prairie. These wild horses were of no account. They looked as pretty as a picture when they were fat and slick, but a number of 'em were caught, and not one of 'em was good for anything. I chased a bunch once for six or eight miles, and came near killing a good horse after 'em, and didn't get one. I'll bet the horse I was riding was worth more than the whole bunch I was chasing. The romance of the wild horse is a good deal like the romance of the cowboy's life: there's nothin' to it."