Bat Wing Bowles

by Dane Coolidge

  CHAPTER VI

  THE ROUND-UP

  It is an old saying that there is no combination or percentage knownthat can beat bull luck. Bowles was lucky; but he didn't know how luckyhe was, never having seen a real bronk pitch. After Wa-ha-lote had hadhis run he changed his mind again and decided to be good, and whenBowles galloped him back to the ranch he was as gentle as a dog, and thetop horse in the remuda. Even when Bowles started to rise to the trotthe Water-dog was no more than badly puzzled.

  By this time the outfit was pouring out the gate on their way to thebelated round-up, and all except the principals had decided to take itas a joke. To be sure, they had lost an hour's daylight, and broken afew throw-ropes; but the time was not absolutely lost. Bowles would soondraw a bronk that _would_ pitch, and then--oh, you English dude! Theygreeted him kindly, then, with the rough good-nature you read so muchabout, and as Bowles loosened up they saw he was an easy mark.

  "Say, pardner," said one, "you sure can jump the fences! Where'd youlearn that--back at Coney Island?"

  "Coney Island nothin'!" retorted another. "W'y, Joe, you show yourignorance! This gentleman is from England--can't you see him ride?"

  "Well, I knowed all along he was goin' to ride Wa-ha-lote," observed athird, oracularly. "I could tell by the way he walked up to him. How'she goin', stranger--make a pretty good buggy-horse, wouldn't he?"

  "Yes, indeed!" beamed Bowles. "That is, I presume he would. He is one ofthe best gaited animals I ever rode. A perfect riding horse! Really, Ican't remember when I've enjoyed such a glorious gallop!"

  They crowded around him then, in an anxious, attentive cluster, stilljabbing their horses with the spurs to keep up with Henry Lee butsalting away his naive remarks for future reference.

  Henry Lee was just making some little gathers near the home ranch whilehe waited for his neighbors to send in their stray men for the biground-up, and as the conversation rattled on in the rear he headedstraight for a range of hills to the south. An hour of hard ridingfollowed, and then, as they began to encounter cattle, he told off menby ones and twos to drive them in to the cutting ground. Hardy Atkinstook another bunch of men and rode for a distant point, and soon thewhole outfit was strung out in a great circle that closed in slowly upona lonely windmill that stood at the base of the hills.

  As no one gave him orders, Bowles tagged along for a while and thenthrew in with Brigham, hoping to imbibe some much-needed informationabout the cow business from him; but a slow, brooding silence had comeover that son of the desert and he confined his remarks to few words.

  "Don't crowd the cattle," he said; "and don't chase 'em. They's nothin'to it--jest watch the other hands."

  He mogged along glumly then, spitting tobacco and looking wise wheneverBowles made effusive remarks; and soon the spirit of the wide placestook hold of the impressionable Easterner and taught him to be still.The sun was shining gloriously now, and the air was like new wine; hehad conquered Wa-ha-lote, and won a job on the ranch; yet, even as thehot blood coursed in his veins and his heart leaped for joy, the solemnsilence of burly Brigham exhorted him to peace. Nay, more than that, itset up uneasy questionings in his mind and made him ponder upon what hehad said. Perhaps he had spoken foolishly in the first flush of hisvictory; he might even have laid himself open to future gibes and jests,branding himself for a tenderfoot with every word he said.

  Yes, indeed; perhaps he had. At any rate, the first words he heard asthey neared the cutting-grounds were indicative of the fact.

  "Hey, Bill!" roared Buck Buchanan, wafting his bull voice across theherd. "Release that Bar X cow!"

  "Beg pahdon?" replied Bill, holding his hand behind his ear; and thenthere was a rumble of Homeric laughter that left Bowles hot with shame.

  "Hey, Buck!" echoed Happy Jack, reining his horse out to turn back anambling steer; and while all hands watched him eagerly he struck into arough trot across the plain. Then, holding out his elbows in a mannerthat he supposed to be English, he bobbed higher and higher at everyjump until he fell face forward on his horse's neck, and the cowboyswhooped for joy. Bowles was able to laugh at this joke, and he tried todo it graciously; but the sudden wave of good manners and faultlessgrammar which swept over the crowd left him heated and mad clearthrough. Any dreams he might have cherished of becoming the little tinhero of the cow country were shattered beyond repair, and he saw theAmerican cowboy as he really is--a very frail and human creature, whoscorns all things new and foreign, and particularly objects to Easterntenderfeet who try to beat him at his own game.

  If Bowles had been piled in the dirt by his first mount and come limpingforth with a grin, he would have won a corralful of friends by his grit;as it was, he had ridden Wa-ha-lote, a horse supposed to be a rankoutlaw, and the cowboys were quick to resent it. Even the loyal Brighamhad turned against him, looking on with a cynical smile as he saw himmocked; and as for Henry Lee, he could not even get near him. Scorn andanger and a patrician aloofness swept over Bowles' countenance by turns,and then he took Brigham's unspoken counsel and let the heathen rage. Itwas hard on his pride, but he schooled himself to endure it; and as cantphrase after cant phrase came back at him and he realized how loosely hehad talked he decided in the future to keep his mouth shut. So far, atleast, he had caught the great spirit of the West.

  But now for the first time there was spread out before his eyes theshifting drama of the cow country, and he could not resist its appeal.On the edge of a great plain and within sight of jagged rock-ribbedmountains he beheld the herd of lowing cattle, the remuda of sparehorses, the dashing cowboys, the fire with its heating irons, and allthe changing scenes that go to make up a Western branding. For a spellthe herd stood still while mothers sought out their calves and restlessbulls plowed in and out; then when the clamor and blatting had lulled,and all hands had got a drink and made a change of horses, a pair ofropers rode into the herd, marking down each cow and calf and makingsure they were mother and offspring. At last, when Henry Lee and hisneighbors' stray men were satisfied, the ropers shook out their loops,crowded in on some unbranded calf and flipped the noose over its head.Like automatons, the quick-stepping little cutting ponies whirled andstarted for the fire, dragging the calves behind them by neck or legs orfeet. Any way the rope fell was good enough for the cowboys, and theponies came in on the lope.

  Behind the calf pranced its frantic mother, head down and smelling itshide, and a pair of cowboys stationed for that purpose rode in andturned her back. Then the flankers rushed out and caught the rope, andthe strong member seized the calf by its neck and flank and with anupward boost of the knees raised its feet from the ground and threw itflat on its side. One held up its head, the other the hind legs, and ina flash the ear-markers and hot-iron men were upon it, to give it abrand for life.

  "Bat Wing!" called the dragger-up, giving the mother's brand. There wasa blat, a puff of white smoke, and the calf was turned back to his"Mammy." That was the process, very simple to the cowboy and entirelydevoid of any suggestion of pain; but to Bowles it seemed rather brutal,and he went back to help hold the herd.

  As one roper after the other pursued his calf through the throng, orchased it over the plain while he made wild and ineffectual throws, thegreat herd milled and moved and shifted like a thing of life. At adistance of a hundred feet or more apart a circle of careless puncherssat their mounts, nominally engaged in holding the herd but mostlyloafing on the job or talking it over in pairs. To Bowles it seemed thatthey were very negligent indeed, letting cows walk out which could havebeen turned back by the flip of a rope, and then spurring furiouslyafter them as they made a break for the hills. If a calf which theropers had failed to catch came dashing by, one guard, or even two,might leave his place to join in a mad pursuit, meanwhile leaving Bowlesand Wa-ha-lote to patrol the entire flank of the herd. To be sure, heliked to do it; but their system seemed very poor to him, though he didnot venture to say so.

  Meanwhile, with futile pursuits and monotonous waits, the brandingdragged slowly alon
g, and suddenly Bowles realized he was hungry. Helooked at his watch and saw that it was nearly noon, but he couldperceive no symptoms of dinner. He regretted now the insufficientbreakfast which he had eaten, remembering with a shade of envy theprimitive appetite which had enabled the others to bolt beefsteaks likeravening wolves; also, he resolved to put a biscuit in his pocket thenext time he rode out on the circle. But this availed him nothing in hisextremity, and as the others sought to assuage their pangs withbrown-paper cigarettes he almost regretted the freak of nicety which hadkept him from learning to smoke. It was noon now--seven hours sincebreakfast--and just as he was about to make some guarded inquiries ofBrigham the work of branding ceased. The branders, their faces grimedand sweaty and their hands caked with blood, pulled on their heavy shapsand came riding up to the herd; but not to cry: "Release them!"

  Odious as these words had become to Bowles, they would have sounded goodunder the circumstances; but there was more work yet to come. Driving abunch of old cows to one side for a "hold-up," Henry Lee and hisstrenuous assistants began cutting out dogie calves. Everything over ayear old was fated to become a feeder and, while mothers bellowed andtheir offspring protested, Hardy Atkins and the best of the cowhandshazed the calves into the hold-up herd. It was a long and tediousoperation, involving numerous wearisome chases after calves that wantedtheir mothers; and when at last it was done and the main herd wasreleased, behold, a lot of cows and undesirables had to be cut back fromthe hold-up herd. Then the dogies had to be separated into yearlings and"twos"; and when Bowles was about ready to drop off his horse fromweakness Henry Lee detailed a bunch of unfortunates to drive up thecalves, and turned his pony toward home. To him it was just a littlegather while the neighbors were sending in their men; but to Bowles itcombined the extreme hardships of a round-up with the rigors of a fortydays' fast.

  In a way it was all Bowles' fault, too, for he had kept the whole outfitwaiting while he made a bluff at riding Dunbar. His resolution to keephis mouth shut stood him in good stead now, for a hungry man is a wolfand will fight if you say a word. There were no gay quips and gags now,no English riding and classic quotations; every man threw the spurs intohis horse and started on a run for camp. Wa-ha-lote pulled at the bit atime or two at this, and Bowles did not try to restrain him; he brokeinto a gallop, free and sweeping as the wind, and the tired cuttinghorses fell behind; then as the ranch showed up in the distance hesettled down to a tireless lope, eating up the hurrying miles untilBowles could have hugged him for joy.

  Here was a horse of a thousand--this black, named in an alien tongueWa-ha-lote--and he longed as he rode into the ranch to give him sometoken of friendship--a lump of sugar, or whatever these desert horsesliked best to eat--in order to hold his regard. So he trotted over tothe cook's wagon, being extremely careful not to bob, and asked GloomyGus for a lump of sugar. Now Gus, as it happened, was in another badhumor, due to the boys' being an hour or so late, and to a second matterof which Bowles knew nothing; and he did not even so much as vouchsafean answer to his request.

  "I beg your pardon," began Bowles again, when it was evident he was notgoing to get the sugar. "Perhaps you will give me a biscuit, then. Yousee," he explained rather shamefacedly, "I am riding this horse for thefirst time, and he has been so gentle I wanted to give him something.Any little thing, you know, and I shall be glad to pay for it----"

  "I am not cookin' fer hawses!" observed Gloomy Gus; but at the same timehe glanced apprehensively toward a long pile of cord-wood which flankedhis fire to the south; and as if to verify his suspicions a summer hatappeared from behind the tiers of crooked juniper and a lady steppedinto view. She was a very beautiful lady, middle-aged and with hauntingbrown eyes; and the moment she turned them upon Bowles he knew she wasDixie Lee's mother. Not that she looked so much like the elusive DixieMay, but she had the same way with her eyes--and, besides that, she wasvery contained and quiet, and looked as if she came from the East. Shegazed at him for a moment with a kind, motherly air--as if she had heardall he said--and addressed herself to the cook.

  "Well, really, Gus," she began, speaking in the low-pitched tones of thedrawing-room, "I can't imagine what happens to those eggs. I have overforty hens, and surely they lay more than seven eggs a day. There's onenest, away in there, but----"

  "Well, _I_ ain't took none," grumbled Gus, turning sulkily to his potsand kettles; "that's all I got to say."

  "Pardon me," broke in Bowles, swinging lightly down from his horse andstanding hat in hand, "perhaps I could creep in and----" He smiled as hehad smiled at the ladies who attended the Wordsworth Society, and Mrs.Lee glanced at him approvingly.

  "Oh, don't trouble yourself," she said politely. "If it were humanlypossible to reach them, I am sure they would be gone by now. I didn'tmean to blame you at all, Mr. Mosby,"--this to the cook--"but, really, Iwas trying to save enough eggs to make the boys a cake."

  A wave of indignation swept over Bowles. He remembered those graceless"boys" roasting eggs by the fire at night, and he thought how littlethey deserved her kindness; but all he did was to murmur hisappreciation. At this the lady looked at him again, like one who knowsher own kind, and her voice was very pleasant as she said:

  "Oh, you are the young man that rode Wa-ha-lote this morning, aren'tyou? Ah, he is such a beautiful horse!" She came over and stroked hisneck thoughtfully while Bowles stood by his head and smiled. "Don't youknow," she said, "I have always claimed that a horse could be conqueredby kindness. And I'm so glad!" she murmured, with a confidential touchof the hand. "Won't you come up to the house, and I'll give you thatlump of sugar."