CHAPTER IX

VICENTE, COW HAND

It was plain daylight, but the sun had not risen, when Vicente, Tulare Joe and Jack set out from the camp to ride circle through the rough hills to the northeast. They would gather whatever cattle they could find and bring them to the camp, which would be moved a short distance farther during the day.

Vicente was a Mexican, of at least middle age. His hair and mustache were jet black, but his side-whiskers were gray. With his stiff conical black hat and a little military cape which he often wore, sitting erect in his saddle, with an air of great dignity, he looked more like a Spanish hidalgo than an everyday cowboy of the plains. No one knew Vicente's history, nor where he came from. This was not especially because he was a silent man, for in fact he often talked quite freely, but however much he talked, he himself was never the subject of his conversation.

Notwithstanding his dignity, his unusual clothing and his more or less precise and elaborate manner, Vicente was a wonderful cow hand. If anything especially difficult had to be done, he was usually called upon to do it. If some steers had to be handled in a small corral, Vicente was likely to ride into the corral on his favorite gray roping horse, and to pick out one animal after another, throw and tie it, and then when all hands on foot had gotten through with it, and had bolted for the fence, Vicente would untie the steer and dodge it until it wearied of the effort to fight him and went back to crowd in among the other animals.

The younger cowboys stood somewhat in awe of Vicente, and never tried to play jokes on him, nor made fun of him as they did of each other; though of course they cheered and shouted if by chance he mounted a horse which bucked with unusual ferocity. No horse, however vicious, energetic or long-winded had as yet been found, so far as any one on this round-up knew, that was able to stir Vicente from his saddle.

Hugh once said that only once in his life had he seen a man who rode as well and as certainly as Vicente. This was an old Mexican known as "One-Eyed Juan" who used to live down at Bent's Old Fort on the Arkansas. It was said that if a particularly bad horse had to be ridden down there at Bent's Fort--one that none of the Mexicans or Indians could do anything with--Juan would mount it, and putting a silver dollar between the sole of each foot and the stirrup, would ride the beast to a standstill, and when he dismounted the silver dollars were always found in the stirrups. One who saw Vicente ride a bad horse could believe this story. He rode in quite a different way from the American cow punchers, even those who were never thrown. Some of them lopped about on the horse, riding on one thigh or the other, and some seemed wholly unconcerned as to what the horse did; but, while they rode well, and were never shaken from their seats, they did not ride gracefully, firmly and steadily as did Vicente.

The three men rode fast to the edge of the hills, and had little to say to each other, but when they reached the point where they must separate to look for the cattle, Joe and Jack, by common consent, turned to the older man and asked him for instructions. Vicente's English was extraordinary and, until one was familiar with it, not easy to understand; but, brokenly as he spoke, every one in this cow camp understood him, as indeed did every one in all the region round about, for he had lived here for a long time, and on all the range was a well-known personage.

"How shall we work, Vicente?" asked Joe. "You tell us and we'll try to do as you say."

"It looks to me best," Vicente answered, "that Joe rides along the edge of the hills looking up the valleys; and you, Jack, ride a mile or two back from the edge; and I'll go still farther back toward the divide, maybe up on the divide--anyhow, so as to see the heads of all the coulées. What cattle Joe finds and what cattle I find we'll drive along and turn down to Jack, and Jack will push along the bunch, while we try to get all the cows that are feeding in these ravines."

"We'll do that," said Joe; "and that means that I turn off now before we've gone very far, and take in these lower hills."

After they had ridden a mile farther, Joe turned to the north or northwest, while Jack and Vicente kept on until the Mexican pointed out a place where he said Jack had better start north by himself, while he went farther on.

Jack sat for a moment watching the little horse swinging easily along up the hill under the erect military figure; and then, turning to his left, he started to gallop over the ridges and ravines that cut the slopes. It was killing work for a horse, up and down, up and down, up and down. As much as he could, Jack tried to save his animal by taking the hills at an angle, but even at best it was such hard work that Jack felt obliged often to stop, to let the horse rest and breathe.

For some time he rode on without seeing any cattle, but presently in a narrow valley, where evidently water had stood late into the spring, he saw ten or a dozen cows and young stock feeding on a little flat from which they had nipped off all the tall grass, so that at a distance the green carpet looked as if it had been gone over by a lawn-mower.

The cattle saw him almost as soon as he saw them, and seemed wilder than any he had previously come across. In a moment their heads were down, and their tails up and they were bolting across the ridges at a lively gait. Their direction was just that which Jack was taking, or perhaps they bore off a little to the left, which would bring them down more toward Joe's line. At all events, there was no reason to hurry after them, for they would certainly be gathered by one of the three men.

As Jack looked up toward the hill he could occasionally see Vicente crossing an open space, going at a good rate and apparently thinking nothing of his horse. Yet, oddly enough--and Jack as well as others of the round-up boys had often wondered at it--Vicente's horses, even though he had a string of only six and seemed to work them twice as hard as any other horses on the round-up, were always in good spirits, fat and springy. Now and then on the hillside above, and always in advance of Vicente, he could see little bunches of cattle hurrying along. He kept a sharp lookout to his right, thinking that possibly some of those being driven by the Mexican might turn off and drift down the hill in his direction, and if they did so he did not wish to go so far, or so carelessly, as to leave them behind.

Keeping his eye out warily, both up and down the hill, he presently saw above him, rushing diagonally to the front, five black-tail deer, none of them with horns--apparently an old doe, two yearlings and two spotted fawns. They had been startled either by Vicente or by the cattle he was driving, and now were making great time down the hill and toward safety. Even for them the work of crossing these ridges was tiring, and before long Jack could see that the old doe's tongue was hanging out of her mouth and that she was beginning to lose her wind. Jack had no cattle immediately in front of him, and he was riding down into a rather wide valley with a flat bottom. As the deer were drawing near, and would apparently cross in front of him, he put his horse into a fast gallop in order to reach the top of the next ridge about the time the deer got there. This he succeeded in doing, and as he rode up on top of the ridge and drew rein just below some scrubby pine trees, he could see the deer coming at a gallop along the top of this ridge, apparently intending to follow it down to the lower country, instead of continuing their way across the ravines. Jack was partly hidden by the trees, and was making no movement. The deer kept on along the ridge, slackening their pace as they got near to him, until just before they reached the pine trees the two leading does were trotting, the two fawns had almost stopped and the old doe was coming along heavily in the rear. By the pines they all stopped and looked back up the hill, as if to try to learn what had become of the cause of their alarm. They were so close to Jack that he could readily have thrown a rope over the head of any one of them. Their red flanks were heaving and the old doe was quite tired. The little fawns, which could not have been more than six weeks or two months old, were the embodiment of grace and lightness.

After looking back for a moment or two, the deer seemed to feel that there was nothing more to fear from the enemy that had frightened them up the hill. Two or three times they looked at Jack, but neither he nor his horse moved, and after a stare or two the deer looked unconcernedly away. Presently, with a slow, almost slouching, gait, they started to walk on down the ridge toward some underbrush on the hillside; and in doing this they crossed the wind which was blowing from the southeast, and so, in their changed position, blew from Jack to them. As each deer walked into this tainted current it bounded into the air as if shot up by a gigantic spring, and coming down again, the headlong flight was resumed with every appearance of terror. It was not the first time that Jack had seen something of this sort, and Hugh had more than once spoken to him of the effect of the scent of man on wild animals; but to-day Jack wondered at it as much as he had ever done before. The deer had looked squarely at him without recognizing him as anything dangerous or hostile, but the instant that their noses told them that he was there, they raced off in headlong flight.

A few more ridges surmounted, and Jack came again upon the little bunch of cattle that he had started in the morning. Though still wild, they did not rush off in the same alarm that they had shown earlier in the day. Above them on the hillside and near the head of the same ravine were other cattle lying on the steep side hill, and Jack, riding up, started them on their way. These animals had evidently just lain down after feeding, and were not at all wild. It seemed probable to Jack that he might have to do some literal cow punching with these logy beasts, and he took them down the hill with him and started them forward about in the line that he was riding.

All through the morning this went on, and Jack had gathered forty or fifty head of cattle, while from what he could see on the hillside above him Vicente had a still larger bunch. It was impossible to get any idea of what Joe was doing, because the slope here was too gradual.

In the early afternoon it was evident that Vicente had turned his cattle down the hill toward Jack. Many of them showed themselves working down ahead of him, and now and then he could hear the whistles and calls by which Vicente was urging them on.

It was not long after this that Vicente was seen hurrying along the hillside up and down, gathering the cattle into a more or less close bunch, and then starting them down a ridge ahead of Jack. A little later, too, Jack began to see cattle coming from his left--from down the hill. He therefore stopped where he was, and getting up on as high a point as possible, looked over the ground to get an idea of the situation. Evidently this had been a pretty fruitful gather, for there must have been more than three hundred cattle brought along by Vicente and by Joe, and as yet it was only a little after noon.

After a time, as the animals got together in a fairly close bunch ahead of Jack, Vicente rode up to him; and presently Joe appeared from a ravine. The three stopped and got off and sat down on the ground, and Joe and Vicente rolled cigarettes. The tired horses panted and the sweat dropped from their saddle cinches.

"Lots of cattle here," said Vicente. "We bring in big bunch to-night; hard on the horses, though. Lots of places in this rough country where cattle can hide."

"Yes," agreed Joe, "that's sure so. I ought to have a fresh horse now; mine's near give out."

"Well," said Jack, "I've been having an easy time, I reckon. I haven't done much of anything except to keep right straight ahead. My horse is tired too, but not so tired as those you two have been riding."

"Suppose we get lot more cattle," said Vicente; "we'll have a bunch too big for you to handle; then we'll have to take 'em out of the hills and drive 'em to camp; but we've not much farther to go now."

"No," answered Jack; "I suppose it's not much farther, and I guess we can keep these going all right; but I'll have my work cut out for me if any of these cattle should be mean and try to break back, as they are liable to. I'll have to do some riding myself."

"Some of these cattle are pretty wild," said Vicente. "I started three or four bunches that tried hard to break back, but now that they're together in a big bunch they'll be easier to handle. Only, Jack, look out and don't lose any in these ravines."

"All right; I'll try," Jack promised.

A little later, the three mounted again and Jack rode down toward the cattle and put the bunch in motion. It was slow work to get them started, but as Jack went along he could see from the tops of the ridges he crossed that the range of hills along which they had been working bent away to the east just ahead of him, and that before long he would have the cattle on smoother ground where it would be easier to watch them and to keep them traveling straight. Now the ravines began to grow wider and shallower. Joe joined him with a few more head, and at length they got the bunch out into fairly flat country. A little later, Vicente was seen off to the right coming with a few more cows; and presently the herd with the three riders guiding it was traveling slowly along under its cloud of dust toward the camp, which they could now see ahead of them.

The sun was still pretty high above the western horizon when they drove the cattle down to the stream to drink, and after that began to work them over to where the main herd was feeding.

"I suppose," Jack said to Vicente, "that now we have got so many cattle we'll have to spend a day or two cutting and branding calves."

"Yes," replied Vicente; "I think so. Seems to me I saw a big lot of strays in this bunch that we've got ahead of us. Not many brands of people around here. I don't know where they come from. Some of the brands I don't know."

"That's right," put in Joe. "I've seen plenty of brands that are new to me. Say, Vicente," he went on, "there's a big fat maverick heifer among those that I gathered. I wonder if McIntyre wouldn't like to kill her for beef?"

"You sure she's got no brand on?" asked Vicente.

"Yes, I'm sure."

"Suppose you ride to camp and ask McIntyre, and maybe we can cut her out before we get to the herd."

"All right," said Joe; and galloped off in the direction of the camp.

Before long he returned, riding a fresh horse.

"McIntyre says to bring that maverick over to the camp, and we'll kill her there," he reported.

No sooner said than done. Vicente and Joe pushed their horses into the bunch of cattle and before long had cut out the unbranded heifer, which was very fat, and were driving her back to the camp. A little later the herd Jack was driving mingled with the main herd, and he also turned toward camp; but before he got there he heard a shot, and as he rode into the camp he could see two of the boys dressing the young cow.