Cattle-Ranch to College

by John Kendrick Bangs

  CHAPTER XIII.

  HERDING HORSES AND PANNING GOLD.

  "Seems to me," said John to his new partner, Frank Bridges, "that thisis a pretty tough gang. Half of 'em drunk, and the rest of 'em ready totake your head off if you speak to 'em."

  "Oh, well," answered the other, "some of them got out of money quickerthan others and so got out of liquor quicker. It's kinder hard to goback to work in the wilds after loafing round the town a good while.You'll find that they're not such a bad lot when they're sober and getto workin'."

  The two were sitting on one of the scrapers that trundled behind thewagons--a vehicle which, though not exactly comfortable, wasexclusive--they had it entirely to themselves. All day long they hadtravelled thus, except at dinner time, when a short halt was made. Johnsaid he would almost as lief ride a brake beam as a "break-back," for sohe had christened this jolting equipage.

  Long after dark they saw the white tents of the camp loom up, and in aminute after their arrival it was the scene of bustling activity. Orderswere bawled, greetings were shouted, the teamsters yelled and swore attheir horses. But above the din rose the voice of Old Murphy, thecontractor: "Here, boys, rustle round and get these horses out of theharness. Worth, saddle up and take these horses to the other bunch andwatch 'em all till morning." Then, turning to his foreman: "Ricks, getthis fellow a saddle horse."

  "The others are tied up yet, Mr. Murphy," the man ventured.

  "What! Not out yet?" roared the boss. A regular tirade followed, andJohn realized that he must do his work well to escape a tongue-lashing.He was rather staggered at the order to saddle up and get out at teno'clock at night, with a lot of strange horses, in a country he did notknow.

  "Say, Frank," he said to his friend, who was busy unloading therolled-up "beds" or bedding, "this is no joke; I don't want to lose alot of horses and maybe kill myself in the bargain--it's going it blindwith a vengeance."

  "You'd better make a stab at it, anyhow," he was advised. "The old man'sraging, and you might lose your job if you showed the white feather."

  "You ready yet, Worth?" It was Murphy's voice, and John jumped at thesound of it.

  "Give me a hand, Frank, will you. Bring the blasted old cayuse over herewhile I get the saddle ready. I'll do it or bust," and John suited theaction to the word.

  In a few minutes the boy was in the saddle and following the alreadystraggling bunch of horses.

  "Keep your eye open for prospect holes," shouted Frank.

  "You want to watch those horses like thunder, Worth," called out Murphy,who seemed to be everywhere at once. "They're strangers to each other,and they'll split up and scatter to the four winds if you don't watch'em. Some's from Oregon and some's from Utah, and if they get separatedit'll cost mor'n they're worth to get 'em back again. You've gotfifty-six head--keep counting 'em." The "old man" apparently did notwant him to get beyond the sound of his voice, but kept following andshouting instructions. Perhaps he realized that he was giving the boy atrying, and possibly dangerous, task.

  "All right," shouted John cheerfully, but at heart he was not soconfident.

  It was long after ten and quite dark; the horses in front were mereshadows and could only be distinctly made out by the tramp of theirhoofs. To count them exactly was almost impossible, for it was hard totell where one horse began and another ended. The old beast John wasriding, however, knew his business, and it was well he did, for it wasnecessary to trust almost entirely to his acuteness and keen sense ofsmell. Horses and herder splashed across the creek and pushed their waythrough the brush and up the hill opposite.

  The boy realized that his work was cut out for him, and he determined hewould see the thing through. The hills and gulches round about were newto him. There might be precipices, quicksand bottoms, bogs, and, worstof all, the night-rider's menace, old prospect holes. These were short,narrow, and often deep ditches dug by miners in their search for theprecious metal. Besides all this, he was on a horse he had never throwna leg over before and of whose disposition and capabilities he knewnothing.

  "If I only had Baldy!" he thought as the cayuse he was riding plungedinto the brush after the retreating bunch.

  Immediately his trouble began. The old horses, old companions, jealousof the newcomers, tried to elude them, and the latter were none tooanxious for their company. John could only gallop forward and back andall around, restraining this scattering tendency as best he could, anddepending on his mount's sagacity to avoid holes and obstructions. Amerry dance his charges led him--merry in the lively sense only--up anddown, in and out, over what kind of country he could only guess. All hecould see of his troublesome charges was a shadowy back now and then, ora high-thrown head silhouetted against a lighter patch of sky or a bankof sand.

  He judged himself to be two miles from camp before the animals seemed tothink of stopping to feed. Even then they were determined to separate,and it taxed John's vigilance to the utmost to keep them together. Hishorse began to tire, it was many hours before daylight, and somethinghad to be done--at once. An old gray mare carried a bell on her neck andJohn noticed that the rest of the bunch followed her blindly. If hecould catch and tie her up the others might be more inclined to stay inone spot. How to do this was the question. She was too wily to be caughtby hand, and if in throwing the rope the loop missed, she would scatterthe entire herd in a minute. For a while he gave up the plan, but itgrew more and more difficult for his weary horse to keep up thecontinued darting to and fro.

  At last he decided to make the trial--it was the last resort and thecast must be successful. He made ready his lariat, holding a coil in hisleft hand and the wide loop in his right, and waited an instant for agood opportunity. The gray mare stood out more distinctly than the otherhorses and made a better mark, but at best it would be a difficultthrow. For several seconds John sat still in his saddle, the noosecircling slowly round his head, his arm still, only the supple wristbending. The old mare was watching him. The rope now began to whistle asits speed increased. Suddenly the belled mare snorted and started off ona run; John shut his teeth hard, threw at what looked like a neck, tooka couple of turns round the horn of the saddle with the slack rope, thenwaited.

  Almost at once the line tightened. A gentle pressure was put on thebridle rein, and the pony's weight checked the mare in her flight. Thethrow was a good one, and the mare was caught. The shock was great, andJohn's pony was green at this sort of business and the tighteningcinches made him jump in lively fashion. The mare too had not learnedthat it is useless to "run against a rope," and for a while kept Johnand his mount busy; but the increasing tightness of the slip noose roundher neck soon quieted her and enabled the boy to tie her up short to atree.

  The remedy proved to be effective; soon all the horses were feedingquietly round the tied leader.

  John congratulated himself on his success and prepared to take amuch-needed rest, but was interrupted by the sound of another bell farup the gulch. Evidently there were other horses feeding near, and it wasessential to keep them separated; so he trotted to a point between theherd and the place from which the ringing came. Again he dismounted fromhis sweating pony and sat down to rest, when, chancing to glance overhis shoulder, he saw a small fire blazing a quarter of a mile away. "Norest for the weary," he grunted resignedly, mounted once more andstarted out to investigate. As he rode slowly nearer he made out a mansitting cross-legged by the fire, his face in strong relief, his backalmost lost in shadow. Behind stood a saddled horse, barely showing inthe gloom.

  John rode up, slapping his chaps with his quirt to let the stranger knowthat he was a horseman also and giving fair warning of his approach.Otherwise he might be taken for a horse thief and shot on sight.

  A ROPE CORRAL WAS DRAWN ABOUT THE SADDLE BAND. (_Page281._)]

  The stranger rose quickly and retreated into the shadow. John did notlike this. "Hullo, pardner!" he called, drawing nearer.

  "Hullo, stranger," replied the other. "Are you lost?"

  "No. I'm Murphy's nigh
t herder. Pretty dark night, isn't it?"

  The man returned to the circle of firelight, his suspicions allayed,thus evidencing his own honesty. John dismounted and came up to him,glad to have some one to talk and listen to.

  "You night-herdin' too? I heard a bell ringing up the gulch and Iguessed there was another bunch of horses up there."

  "Yep. I've got Brady's horses up there," and he nodded in the directionof a dimly visible lot. John described the difficulties he hadexperienced and asked if there were many prospect holes about.

  "Yes, lots of 'em," answered the Brady man. "An' they're deep too. I wasridin' along with my bunch last spring, spurrin' my horse to get aheadof the critters, when he went plump into a blamed hole--and he's thereyet. I only got away by the skin of my teeth."

  "I guess I'm in great luck to get through this safe," said John. "I wasnever on this range till after dark to-night."

  "Horses all there?" inquired the other, nodding towards John's charges.

  "Sure. But I guess I'd better count 'em."

  "My horses are like a lot of sheep. I'll go along with you."

  The two rounded the animals together again and counted them as well asthe darkness would allow. They agreed that they numbered fifty-six andJohn breathed easier.

  And so the first night passed, the two herders chatting pleasantly tilldawn, when they parted, agreeing to meet some other night.

  A little before daybreak John rounded up his bunch and began drivingthem in the direction of the camp. When daylight came he counted themagain and to his satisfaction found them all there. In spite of thetiresome trip of the day before, the hard riding of the precedingevening, and the long night's vigil, he felt as gay as the lark thatsoared overhead pouring out a song entirely out of proportion in volumeto its size. He hummed blithely an Indian war chant, made over for theoccasion, and breathed in the early morning fragrance with a feeling ofexhilaration that made him forget for the time that he had gone to workthe night before supperless and had not put his teeth into anythingedible since.

  The sight of the cook preparing breakfast speedily reminded him that hehad an "aching void," which seemed to extend to his very heels.

  The boss's query, "Got 'em all, Worth?" was answered, with pardonablepride, in the affirmative. For John felt that he had done good work.

  The breakfast was soon over, and what a breakfast! Baked beans, bacon,bread, and coffee, a feast fit for the gods, John thought, as he rolledinto the bed that Frank had previously showed him. He was sound asleepin a minute and entirely unconscious of the bustle and noise about him.Murphy was giving orders in stentorian tones that could be heard half amile away; the unwilling horses were being harnessed to the bigscoop-like scrapers and to the wagons containing tools; the men weredivided into gangs, the new arrivals, cross, surly, and suffering fromaching heads, starting with irritating slowness. Soon all hands werehard at work, "moving hills to fill up hollows," making a level trailfor the iron horse.

  At this point there was much digging and scraping to be done, a deep cutand a long "fill" on the other side. At noon the men trooped back todinner--silent until their hunger was satisfied, then noisy andboisterous--but John slept peacefully through it all.

  About four o'clock he woke up and gazed about him wonderingly. He waslying in a tent, through the open flap of which the sunlight streamed.

  A dip in the stream that ran close by refreshed him greatly anddispelled the sleepy, heavy feeling that had possessed him. The creekwas clear and cool, and John lingered on its banks half clothed, diggingin the sand and mud with his bare feet and hands. As he was dabbling inthe moist earth, he came across some sand that had black streaks in it.His curiosity was aroused, for he had not seen the like before, and hegathered some in his hat, intending to ask what it was.

  The cook was busy washing beans for supper, so John sat down on a lognear by and watched him idly. His thoughts wandered back to the coalcamp, and he wondered about Ben and Baldy; he longed for both, and forthe moment was tempted to go home and see them; then he realized thathe had chosen the path he was now travelling for himself and felt thathe must follow it out to the end. He thought of the journey to Helena,of Jimmy the hobo, and of the life he had just left. His brown study wasinterrupted with a jolt. "What's that you've got in your hat?" It wasthe cook, speaking rather excitedly.

  "Oh, that? That's some sand and gravel I picked out down the creek;brought it up to ask what it is."

  "Well, it looks to me like gold." This impressively.

  "But it's black," objected John.

  "Yes, the black is magnetic iron and often holds gold--maybe there'senough to pay. Do you know how to work the pan?" Cook was evidentlyinterested.

  The boy professed his ignorance, and the other volunteered to show him.

  The pan, a flat, round, shallow tin affair, was taken down to the spotindicated by John and the lesson began. A little gravel, which includedsome of the black sand, was scooped up. Then the pan was taken to thecreek, dipped under, and the water was allowed to run out slowly. Thiswas repeated over and over, and each time a little sand and gravel waswashed over the edge. At last only the black sand, being heavier,remained. This the cook showed triumphantly.

  "Only a little black sand! Where's the gold?" inquired John.

  "It's in the sand, and has to be separated from it by quicksilver, whichabsorbs the gold; then you can throw away the sand," explained cook, whohad put away the residue carefully in a bottle and was dipping up moregravel.

  "But how do you take the gold out of the quicksilver?" The boy wasdetermined to get to the bottom of this thing.

  "Why, you can put it in the sun and let it evaporate, leaving the gold,or you can send it to town to be separated and run the risk of losingboth quicksilver and some of your gold."

  John tried panning, but he found it needed a much more practised handthan his; he spilled out water, gravel, and all, or else he didn'taccomplish anything. Cook's teaching was careful, however, and beforelong his pupil was able to gather enough sand, after sleeping and beforebeginning his night's work, to realize fifty or sixty cents' worth ofgold when separated.

  Immediately after supper John had to saddle his horse and drive the workstock out to feed. This task was becoming more and more easy as thehorses learned to know each other. He met Curran, Brady's wrangler,regularly now, and the companionship helped to while away the long nighthours very pleasantly.

  Curran was of medium height, stoop-shouldered, and rather bow-leggedfrom long contact with a horse's rounded body. He was awkward and stiffwhen afoot, an appearance accentuated by the suit of canvas and leatherthat he wore. In the saddle he was another being, graceful, supple,strong--seemingly a part of the beast he rode. His skin was tanned andseamed by long years of exposure to the sun. He might be the very herohimself of a song he sang to John one night.

  BOW-LEGGED IKE.

  Bow-legged Ike on horseback was sent From some place, straight down to this broad continent.

  His father could ride and his mother could, too, They straddled the whole way from Kalamazoo.

  Born on the plains, when he first sniffed the air He cried for to mount on the spavined gray mare.

  And when he got big and could hang to the horn 'Twas the happiest day since the time he was born.

  He'd stop his horse loping with one good, strong yank, He'd rake him on shoulder and rake him on flank.

  He was only sixteen when he broke "Outlaw Nell," The horse that had sent nigh a score men to--well!

  He climbed to the saddle and there sat still, While she bucked him all day with no sign of a spill.

  Five years later on a cayuse struck the trail Whose record made even old "punchers" turn pale.

  He was really a terror; could dance on his ear, And sling a man farther than that stump--to here!

  A man heard of Ike; grinned and bet his whole pile His sorrel would shake him before one could smile.

&n
bsp; So the crowd they came round and they staked all they had, While Ike, sorter innocent, said: "Is he _bad_?"

  And durin' their laugh--for the sorrel, you see, Had eat up two ropes and was tryin' for me--

  Ike patted his neck--"Nice pony," says he, And was into the saddle as quick as a flea.

  That sorrel he jumped and he twisted and bucked, And the man laughed, expectin' that Ike would be chucked.

  But soon the cayuse was fair swimmin' in sweat While Ike, looking bored, rolled a neat cigarette.

  And then from range to range he hunted a cayuse That could even _in-ter-est_ him, but it wasn't any use.

  So he got quite melancholic, wondering why such an earth, Where the horses "had no sperrits," should have given himself birth.