CHAPTER V

CUTTING AND BRANDING

The sun was just getting ready to look over the hills the next morning and the men were hastily bolting their breakfast, when the horse wrangler brought up the cávaya to the camp. Before this, some of the men had driven into the ground five stakes, four of them marking the four corners of a square of considerable size, with one stake between two of the corners, or on one side of this square. A sixth stake was driven out on the prairie a few yards from one end of the three stakes in line, and at right-angles to that line, thus

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To the tops of these stakes, which were only three feet high, were tied ropes which when pulled tight would make a rope enclosure, complete on three and one-half of its sides, but with an opening between one of the corner stakes and the one standing between the two corners. From one of the corner stakes to the one standing alone on the prairie, ran another rope, making a sort of wing which would stop animals tending to walk by the corner, and would turn them into the opening.

Down on the plains in old times rope corrals were often made by tying ropes to the front and hind wheels of a wagon, and stretching them out at right angles to the length of the wagon. The horses were driven into this corral and then caught there. The Texas ponies of those earlier days were cunning little rascals and many of them had learned to put the nose down close to the ground and get the head under the rope and then raising the head to push out. Of course when one had got out and rushed away, the others would follow, pushing down the rope and getting free. Often the man who was holding the end of the rope, seeing a horse about to push under, would slacken the rope until it was under the pony's nose, and then, giving the rope a quick jerk, it would spring up and hit the horse, making him throw up his head. In the mountains such corrals were sometimes used, but as often those made with the stakes.

The cávaya was driven very slowly toward this rope corral and some of the boys ran out to it, one handling the rope which was to act as a wing and the others the ropes which ran from corner to corner of the corral. The horse wrangler drove his animals along at a walk and turned them into the opening of the corral, the men at the ropes raising them as the horses entered. The horses stopped and made no attempt to push against the ropes. After the whole bunch had entered the corral, the man at the wing rope walked around and stood by the middle one of the three stakes in line, thus completely closing the corral. Ducking under the ropes, the boys now went slowly and quietly into the enclosure, and caught the gentle horses, which, one by one, they led out and tied. Over the heads of any horses that were not willing to be caught, ropes were quietly tossed, and the horses led out.

Jack, who was taking part in all this work, was interested, as he had been so many times before, in seeing the remarkable change of demeanor in a horse, just as soon as it feels a rope on it. The animal may be wild and frisky--apparently untamable--in the corral, but let the rope drop over its head, and it is at once transformed into the meekest and most commonplace of animals.

Of course, this is not true of young colts that have not been broken, but the horse that has had a few falls, and has learned the power of the rope, always fears it.

When all the men had caught up their horses, and the ropes had been taken from the corral, the rest of the bunch were allowed to wander off, while the horse wrangler went to the cook tent to get his breakfast.

Now followed a scene more or less amusing and exciting, or irritating and tiresome, as one happened to look at it. Many cow horses, even though well broken, always object to being saddled, while some object both to being saddled and to being mounted. Now and then was found a horse that had to be blinded before he could be saddled; and occasionally one that refused to be bridled. The younger men shouted and made much fun of their fellows who had horses that were disposed to be nervous, or to object to the saddle.

The older men, when after some trouble they had succeeded in getting the saddles on their horses, and the cinches drawn, were likely to lead the animals up and down by a rope, and let them buck with the empty saddle.

The horse selected this morning by Tulare Joe was young, skittish and rather disposed to make trouble. When Joe approached him, carrying the blanket in his hand, he reared and sometimes came forward on his hind legs striking with his forefeet. The young man was cool and quick, and showed no impatience whatever, but after a few minutes' fruitless work of this sort he called to Jack, who was standing looking on, having saddled his own quiet horse, and asked him to bring his rope. As Jack approached, Joe called to him:

"The next time this horse goes up in the air catch him and throw him for me."

The opportunity came a moment or two later. Jack threw the rope, from a little behind the horse, caught it and gave a sidewise tug while the horse was on its hind legs. The animal fell heavily. Joe jumped on its head, while Jack quickly looped the lariat around its hind legs and tied the horse fast. Without the slightest sign of impatience, Joe lifted the horse's head, and bridled him, while Jack brought the saddle; and a moment later, having had the rope loosed which bound its feet, the half dazed animal stood up and in a few seconds was saddled.

"Much obliged, Jack," said Joe. "You saved me a little time, and have cut those fellows out of a whole lot of the joshing they would have given me while I was fooling with this horse alone. Then, too, you had added some to McIntyre's peace of mind. He thinks the horses brought on a round-up ought to be gentled before the round-up starts, and hates to see time wasted with a horse that is hard to handle."

"Well, Joe," was the response, "I like the way you handle your horse. Most of us lose our patience and kick and swear and pound a horse with a quirt; and that is something that does no good. I know years ago, when I was a little fellow, and was first out here, Hugh used to tell me that the main reason why a man was better than a horse was that he had sense, and if he didn't use his sense, why he wasn't of much account."

Joe laughed.

"You take it from me," he said, "that old man knows a heap, and if you've been traveling around with him for some years, like you say you have, I reckon that you know that a heap sight better than I can tell you."

By this time most of the men had already started out toward the large bunch of cattle now scattered over the prairie, feeding. McIntyre, the foreman, had given orders to the men as to where the various bunches were to be held, and the representatives of the different brands were talking with each other about this. In this bunch of cattle there were four principal brands, which must now be separated and divided into four herds, each one of which would be driven off by the representatives of the brand. Besides the cattle bearing these four brands, there were, of course, in the large bunch a number of strays--cattle that perhaps had wandered on to the range from a distance, or that had been dropped by some one driving a herd through the country, or that were owned by small people, the size of whose bunch did not justify them in sending a representative with the round-up. Of these strays many would be recognized by the cow men present. Those would be turned into the bunch of cut cattle that would pass nearest to the ranch of the owner, while others bearing brands unknown to any of the cow punchers would be kept with the biggest herd, turned out on the home range of that bunch, and perhaps watched for a while in the hope that an owner would turn up. If none was found, the stock association would be notified and the animal turned over to it.

As Jack and Joe drew near the big bunch, half a dozen men were circling around it, bringing it together in a close, compact mass, while two or three other riders were urging their horses among the cattle, scrutinizing the brand which each bore. Most of the cattle had completely shed their winter coats and were short-haired and smooth, so that the brands showed up well and could be read at a considerable distance.

It was interesting to Jack, as it is to every one who witnesses it, to see the trained cow horse follow an animal. There, for example, was a blue roan cow pushing her way through the thick mass of the herd, just ahead of the horse ridden by Rube. The horse was going at a trot and was close to the heels of the cow, which seemed to push always toward the place where the cattle were crowded thickest. Presently Rube got her out from the center of the herd and over toward the edge, and every time that she turned to go back toward the center the little horse, with ears pricked forward, dodged more quickly and got in her way. So, little by little, she was edged out to the border of the bunch; and then it was seen that, running close by her side and almost under her belly, was a strong and sturdy calf that must have been born in March or early April. As soon as the cow had reached the edge of the herd the little pony galloped forward, driving straight toward her except when she tried to break back, and then always getting in her way. Rube now swung his quirt over his head and presently the cow, giving up the struggle to return, started straight off over the prairie to a little bunch of the Sturgis' cattle that had already been brought together and that Hugh and another man were keeping by themselves. Just as the cow reached the edge of this little bunch, a cow puncher threw his rope and caught the calf's hind legs; the horse wheeled instantly and started on a quick gallop, dragging the calf over the prairie to a fire in which the branding irons were heating. Here two of the boys jumped down and held the calf; another snatched a hot iron from the fire and swiftly put the Sturgis brand on it. Then, it was turned loose, and hurried back to the little bunch from which its anxious mother trotted out with threatening calls, and after nosing it all over walked back into the crowd.

McIntyre had detailed Jack to act through the day as one of the calf branders, and all day long he was busy roping calves, dragging them up to the fire and helping to hold them down, while some one clapped on the iron. It was not pleasant work--the smoke of singed hair rose from the animal's side, and the poor creature bawled piteously; but, after all, a great many painful and disagreeable things have to be done, and this was one of them.

As the day went by, and Jack got hotter and more thirsty and more dusty and more tired, he derived a little amusement from wondering what some of those eastern pilgrims, who had talked to him of the romance of the cowboy's life would think of that life if for one day they had to do the work that the cowboy has to do every day. No one can imagine the weary monotony of doing this work over and over again; the strength that it may take to hold the calf; the heat from the fires; the cloud of dust, grime and ashes among which one works; the constant trifling annoyances of being burned by a hot iron, being kicked by a frisky calf, or having one's hands hurt by the rope. All these things, combined with the physical force that is constantly called into play, make the work laborious and tiresome. The romance of the cowboy's life exists only in the imagination. Of course the boys are cheerful and merry, laughing and joking all the time, making fun of their own mishaps, or of those of their neighbors, and this constant flow of good spirits makes the work far lighter than it otherwise would be.

Now and then during the day, a little variety was offered by some cow that, pestered beyond endurance, at last refused to run any longer and turned to fight. Such a cow becomes at once a dangerous animal; and to get her calf away from her, unless it can be frightened into leaving its mother for a short distance, is sometimes difficult.

Jack met with such a cow, which, after wasting a little energy in charging him, contented herself with standing still and threatening with her horns, while the calf stuck close to her side. Two or three times Jack rode swiftly by her and threw his rope at the calf, but the little beast stood so close under its mother's side that in no case did the rope catch it. Jack tried to ride near enough to the calf to lash it with his rope, in the hope that this would start it out from its position of safety, but the attempt was a failure, and the second time he did this the cow charged him viciously. He wheeled his horse and got away, but the long horns swept so close that it gave him a moment's uneasiness lest his horse should be harmed. He whirled quickly to get back to the cow, thinking that possibly the calf might have been left behind, but this had not happened: it was still close to its mother.

About this time, Joe swept by him dragging a calf at the end of his rope, and a few moments later, after the calf had been turned loose, Joe returned.

"Why, here's my chance to pay you off for what you did for me this morning," he said to Jack. "Rope the old cow's horns and I'll take her hind feet and we'll stretch her."

No sooner said than done. In a moment Jack's rope settled over the cow's horns, and as she at first pulled back and then started forward, Joe very cleverly picked up both her hind feet and turned his horse the other way; instantly the cow was stretched out helpless on the prairie. Jack made his rope fast to the horn of his saddle, and left his horse to hold the cow while he ran back to her. Joe in the meantime rode forward toward the cow's head, thus bringing her hind feet up under her breast; and in a moment she was securely tied. The calf had run off a few yards, and stood there bewildered.

"There's your calf," said Joe, as he swung into the saddle again. "Go and brand him."

Jack freed his rope from the cow's head, rode over and caught the calf, and when it was branded, dragged it back to its mother. Then he untied the cow and, hopping into the saddle before she regained her feet, was soon off after another calf.

So the day went on: a long day filled with fun, jollity, laughter, provoking incidents and irritating happenings; so that at night when the men returned to camp they were all weary and enormously hungry. The representatives of each one of the four different brands drove off their cattle to some distance from the main herd, and watched them while they fed and drank, filling their bellies for the night.

A little later these representatives would be relieved by the night herders who now, with several herds to watch instead of one as the night before, would ride about and keep apart the different bunches.

Hungry and tired as they were, a number of the punchers, instead of going directly to camp, rode down in the stream-bed well below the camp and there stripping off their upper clothing whipped the dirt out of it as best they could, and scrubbed their white healthy bodies free from the dust that had sifted through their shirts. The effort to get the grime and sand from their hair was hopeless, except for those men who had been thoughtful enough before starting out on the round-up to have their hair clipped short, and of these there were only two or three.

By the time they reached camp, supper was ready, and it was a ravenous lot of cow punchers who scrambled for plates, cups, and knives and forks, and enjoyed the hearty, wholesome food that simmered on the fire.

At length, stuffed to repletion, Jack threw himself on the ground near Hugh.

"I feel like a boa-constrictor that has eaten an ox," he laughed.

"Well," replied Hugh, "I guess you're stuffed pretty full. It's hard work branding calves, and it's work that you ain't used to right now. It won't be so hard on you a week or two from this, when you've got more into the run of things."

"Of course you're right," said Jack. "I have not done any work just like this for a good while, and it does seem hard and tiresome now, but it's like 'most everything else: we'll get used to it after a while."

"I reckon you didn't see Vicente get chucked to-day, did you?" asked Hugh. "No," he went on, "I'm sure you didn't, because you were over there by the fire when it happened. He tried to throw a cow, and when he stopped his horse the saddle cinch broke and he went a-flyin'. It didn't hurt him none, but he was pretty mad."

"Why, how did it come to break?" asked Jack.

"That was the funny part of it. You know he only came in day before yesterday, and coming down through the mountains the night before he got here, they camped, and along in the night Vicente was waked up by hearing a porcupine walking around camp. Of course, he thought of his saddle at once, and got up out of his blankets. It was bright moonlight and in a minute he saw the porcupine close to his saddle. He grabbed up a stick of firewood--he had got in late and cooked his supper with just a few odds and ends of brush and limbs that he had picked up around camp--and with one of these sticks he went for the porcupine. The stick was no good and broke the first time he hit the animal, and it ran off into the brush.

"Vicente knew it would come back, and he got a stout club so as to kill it if it bothered him. Then he took his saddle to bed with him and tried to stay awake; but he didn't stay awake. Presently he heard the porcupine whimpering about his bed, and he jumped up and mighty soon pounded the life out of the beast. He looked at his saddle the next morning, and it seemed to him to be all right, and he rode down the hill with it and didn't have occasion to use it hard until to-day.

"When he looked at it, after he got chucked, he found that that blasted porcupine had just taken a nip or two at the string that tied the latigo to the ring of the saddle. Maybe there was a little salt in that string from the horse sweat, or maybe it was just an accident. Anyhow, the string was cut enough so that when a pull came the saddle flew, and Vicente with it."

"Well, I am glad that he killed the porcupine," said Jack. "They are pretty useless beasts, according to my way of thinking."

"I don't think much more of them than you do; but up in some parts of the North the Indians think they are about the finest eating there is, and I reckon the Indians' clothing in old times wouldn't have been half as fancy as it used to be if it hadn't been for porcupine quills. You know in old times, before the Indians got glass beads by trading with the white folks, they used to use quills and feathers and hair, and sometimes black roots, to ornament their clothes, and their lodges. Of course, they dyed the quills or feathers, and the roots too, all sorts of colors, and made their moccasins and leggings and shirts and robes real pretty."

"Yes," said Jack; "I have seen buffalo robes that were handsomely worked with quills; and up there in the Piegan country pretty nearly half the shirts, and a good part of the pipe stems, were ornamented with quills."

"That's so," said Hugh. "The Piegans are great fellows to use quills, and so are the Cheyennes."

"That's one thing I want to ask you about, Hugh: how they colored all these different things yellow and red. Of course they didn't have to dye the quills black, because most of them are part black already."

"Well," Hugh promised, "we'll have a talk about that sometime; but I reckon that just now, as my pipe is out, I'm going to bed. I've not much hard work to do on this round-up, and McIntyre isn't going to put me on night herd, but I reckon I need all the sleep I can get to-night."