CHAPTER XXVI

JACK RIDES A WILD HORSE

Jack had noticed that the horns of the bull elk, killed the day before by Hugh, were white and polished, and that the rough part near the base seemed to be full of little fragments of bark, while at the very base, where the horns joined the head, there were bits of dried, thin skin, and marks of blood. He spoke to Hugh about this, and asked if these horns were not now full grown.

"Yes," said Hugh, "they're hard now, and the velvet has been rubbed off, and when the velvet is gone they don't grow no more. A bull carries his horns until along toward spring, say in March, and then they drop off. I expect likely your uncle has told you how these horns grow, and I mind that you killed a bull, yourself, along in the spring, when the horns hadn't much more than started."

"Yes," answered Jack. "Uncle Will has told me all about how the horns grow. It would be hard to believe, if one didn't know that it was so, that these great big horns grow in just a few months."

"That's what they do," said Hugh, "and as soon as they are hard, and the velvet has been cleaned off them, the bulls begin to travel about and gather up their families. It's wonderful to see the way an old bull will travel over the country, hunting it just as careful as can be, to find cows, and when he gets one or two or three, he rounds 'em up and drives 'em ahead of him over the country that he's hunting. I've watched a bull all day long, travel along the foot of a range of high hills, going up every ravine and hunting it out, just about as faithful as a hunting dog would, and a few days after, I have ridden in that same range of country and found the same old bull, with a bunch of eighteen or twenty cows and calves and heifers, that he'd managed to gather up in that time."

"This is the time of year when they whistle, isn't it, Hugh?" said Jack.

"Yes, for about a month now, sometimes for longer, you can hear 'em whistle to each other on the hills. I expect it's a kind of a brag; one saying, 'Here I am; I'm the boss of this range,' and another, on another hill, calling out, 'Here I am; I'm the boss.' I've seen it where you could hear a dozen bulls whistling at the same time. It's a mighty nice sound when you hear it a little way off, but if you're close to the bull that's calling, it sounds more like a part of the neighing of a horse, and ain't nice or pretty."

"Then the elk are travelling around a good deal now, are they, Hugh?"

"No, not right now," said Hugh; "but in the course of a week they'll be travelling and whistling. Just about now the bulls are in the finest kind of order, fat as beef steers, but just as soon as they begin to travel and hunt for cows, and fight, they begin to lose their fat; and along about next month, say the middle of October, they get right poor, and ain't fit to eat. You see, at this time of the year the bull has his work cut out for him; he's got to hunt up cows, keep 'em together, drive off the young bulls, and fight the old ones."

"Did you ever see a fight, Hugh?" said Jack.

"Plenty of 'em," was the reply. "They charge each other, head on, and push and push, as hard as you ever see two range bulls push. Their horns clatter right smart when they come together, and there they stand, head to head, noses down, and just shove and shove. If both of 'em are the same size they may keep that up for an hour or two, but if one is considerable bigger than the other, he will push the little fellow back, slowly at first, but gradually faster and faster, until he gets a side push on him, and then the little fellow's got to be mighty spry, to get out of the way before the big one hits him with his horns."

"It must be great to see a fight like that," said Jack.

"Well, you'd think so; two big animals and with big horns like that, but really, it ain't much fun; they fight so slow; there's no jumping around, no quick work. I'd sooner see a pair of range bulls fight; they've got more go to 'em."

"Still, I'd like mighty well to see it," said Jack.

"Well," said Hugh, "maybe we'll get to see it before this month's over; we can't tell, though. There's one thing I don't want to do, and that is, to camp in among a lot of elk at this time of year; they make so much noise with their whistling, and their running around, and their splashing water (if it's near a lake or a creek), a man don't get no chance to sleep. I've seen it where I've had to get up at night and fire my rifle in the direction of the elk to see if I couldn't drive 'em away."

"Hugh, if I were to tell that at home, in the east, I don't think people would believe me."

"Well, of course," said Hugh, "there's lots of things happens out in this western country that seems strange to people that live back east there. I suppose they could tell me a lot of things that happens back there that I'd find it pretty hard to swallow."

Later in the day, Joe said to Jack, "Jack, you're getting to be quite a cow puncher, but there's one thing you ain't done yet; you ain't ridden a wild horse."

"That's so, Joe; but I'm afraid my legs are pretty short to hold on to a bucking horse."

"Well, yes," said Joe, "they are a little short, but we've got a wild horse out here, or anyhow, a horse that ain't never been ridden, that I believe you could ride. Don't you want to try it now, and surprise your uncle and the old man?"

"Why, of course, Joe; I'd like to do that, if I thought I could stick on, but I wouldn't like to get thrown off."

"Well, now look here," said Joe, "you know that orphan colt? He's coming three years old, and he's just as tame as tame can be. Let's you and me get him into the corral and put a saddle on him, anyhow, and see what he does. I don't believe he'll be a mite afraid of the saddle, and I expect he'd carry you right off as gentle as can be. You'd feel kind of good if you could ride him up to the house and show him to your uncle and Hugh, and say that you'd broke him yourself."

"Yes, indeed, Joe, that would be fine; I'd like that, sure."

"Well, let's go down and try him now; he's over there in the pasture, and we can get him in and saddle him up, anyhow."

They had no trouble whatever in getting the orphan into the corral. His mother had died when he was a little fellow, and he had been reared by hand. After he was in the corral they walked up to him and put a rope about his neck, and led him back and forth. Then Joe got Jack's saddle and bridle, and both were put on the colt without any trouble. He stood perfectly still, but, as the cinch was being drawn tight, he turned his head and looked back at himself, as if he wondered what in the world they were trying to do with him. After the saddle had been put on, he was led up and down, and although he walked awkwardly, he still made no signs of giving trouble.

"Now," said Joe, "I know he ain't going to do anything. If you like, I'll get on him and ride him round a little bit, myself, just to see how he acts, but of course if I do that then you can't say you were the first man to mount him."

"No," said Jack, "he seems quiet; I'll get on him, myself; but let's take him out of the corral and on to the grass, where it will be softer if he throws me."

"All right," said Joe; and they led the colt to the gate and out on to the smooth, level flat, where the sod was soft and springy.

"Now," said Joe, "you can mount here, if you want to, or maybe I'd better run him about a little, so that he can feel the string and stirrups flapping against his sides, and get used to 'em."

Joe ran a quarter of a mile down the valley, leading the horse, which galloped after him quietly enough, except that now and then, when one of the stirrups knocked hard against his side, he pranced and sheered off to one side. When Joe reached Jack again, he said: "He's as awkward as can be, and don't know nothing. Of course, he may throw you, or he may fall with you, but I don't believe he will. You better try him anyhow. Get on, and I'll try and keep along with you. Just start in slowly at first." Jack mounted, and the horse stood perfectly still. He kept on standing still, for when Jack lifted the bridle and clucked to him, and stuck his heels into his ribs, the colt, not knowing what these signs meant, did not move.

"Hold on," said Joe, "I'll hit him behind with the rope; maybe that'll start him." He did so, and the horse took a jump or two forward, and then again stood fast.

"I'll tell you what we've got to do," said Joe; "I'll have to lead him for a while."

"That'll be a queer sort of horse-breaking," said Jack; "me sitting on the horse and you leading him around."

"Never you mind," said Joe; "it ain't breaking this horse needs, it's education, but he needs that a whole lot."

He put the rope around the horse's neck, and when Jack again lifted his bridle rein, and dug his heels into the animal's ribs, Joe pulled on the rope, and the colt started. This was repeated a good many times, and at last the orphan seemed to realize something of what was wanted of him, and Jack found that he could ride him about the flat at a walk, without difficulty. By this time he was feeling quite at home on the colt's back, and wanted to go faster, and once, when the horse was walking, he said:

"Now, Joe, I'm going to try to start him into a lope, so when I stick my heels into his side, you hit him with the rope."

Joe did so, and the colt started off at a clumsy gallop, but as he was not in the least bridle wise, Jack could not guide him, and in a moment he stepped with his right forefoot into a little washout and awkwardly enough fell over onto his right side, and lay there. His fall was so slow that if Jack had been a practiced horseman he could readily have sprung off, alighting on his feet, but he was not quick enough, and the horse fell upon the boy's right leg. Happily the ground was soft, and the large wooden stirrup kept the horse's body from pressing heavily on the confined leg. Joe was beside Jack in a moment, asking him if he were hurt, to which Jack replied:

"Not a bit."

"Can you get your leg out? Is the horse lying on it?" said Joe.

"Well," said Jack, "he's lying on it a little, but I think maybe I can work it out."

"Don't try for a minute," said Joe, "wait till I lift on the horn of the saddle." He took the horn in both hands, and lifting on it, raised the horse's body slowly, and Jack drew out his leg and stood up. Joe kicked the horse angrily, saying: "Get up, you fool brute," and the orphan rose to his feet.

"I'm mighty sorry he fell with you," said Joe, "but I'm mighty glad he didn't hurt you. Now, you wait here a moment until I go and get a quirt, and I'll get on that horse and teach him how to move."

"You go and get the quirt," said Jack, "and I'll get on the horse, and I think I can make him move. All he needs, I guess, is to be made to understand what is wanted of him."

With the quirt in his right hand, Jack mounted again, and again put the horse into a gallop, watching the ground ahead of him, and doing his best to guide him where it was smooth. In a half or three quarters of an hour the orphan had greatly improved in his method of travelling, and really seemed to understand what it was to carry a rider. A little later Mr. Sturgis and Hugh came riding over the hills, and when they reached the flat, Jack rode up to them on the orphan, and said to his uncle:

"You don't want to hire anybody to bust broncos for you, do you, Mr. Sturgis?"

"Why, Jack, what are you doing on the orphan? I didn't know that he'd ever had a saddle on him."

"He never did until this afternoon," said Joe, "but this new cowboy of ours thought he'd make a good saddle horse, and he's been riding him. He stayed with him good, you bet. The horse throwed himself once, but that didn't make a mite of difference to Jack, he just made the horse get up, and got on him, and put the quirt on to him, and rode him all over the flat."

"Well, my boy," said Mr. Sturgis, "I'm glad you had the pluck to try this fellow, and if he makes a good horse, I think we'll have to give him to you."

"Thank you, Uncle Will," said Jack, "that will be pretty fine to have a horse that's really my own."

They were still talking, when suddenly Hugh said, "By George! there's old John coming back," and looking toward the hill, they saw a rider, followed by two pack horses, coming down toward the ranch. It was John Monroe. He had left his daughter's home more than a week before, and was now on his way back to the north.

All at the ranch were glad to see him, and he, on his part, seemed delighted to meet them all again. He unpacked his horses at the bunk house, and turned them all loose, as if he expected to stay here for some time.

That evening Jack questioned him about the distance that he would have to travel before he reached his home. John said he didn't know how many miles it was, but he thought it would take him about twenty-five days' travel to reach the Piegan camp. Just where this camp would be he could not tell, but it would not be difficult to find, after he had come to the country in which the tribe ranged. He said that perhaps it might take longer if the weather should be bad, or if enemies should be met with who might try to take his horses, or even to kill him, but neither of these things was likely to happen. The season of the year promised good weather, and enemies could surely be avoided by watchfulness and care.

Hugh and John had much to say to each other about the doings of the old days, and the more Jack heard of their talk, the more eager he became to see something of this strange life, which seemed to him so much more wild, and so much more natural than even the life on the ranch.

John Monroe stayed at the ranch for ten days, before continuing his journey toward his northern home. Before he left he invited Hugh and Jack to come north the next summer and visit the Piegan tribe. He told Jack much about the summer life of these Indians, and assured him that if he would visit them he would be made welcome, not only by him, but by the whole tribe, and that, if he travelled about with them in their journeys after the buffalo, on which they subsisted, he would see a great deal that would be new and strange to him that he would enjoy. Jack was, of course, crazy to go. He even wanted to start now and spend the winter with the tribe, but Mr. Sturgis very positively vetoed any such proposition, although he said he thought it would be very good for Jack to make the trip next summer, if he could get away from the east for the length of time required for the trip. So when the time came for John's departure, they shook hands in the hope of meeting again another season.