CHAPTER SIX
CUTTING OUT
It was somewhere near noon by the time we had bunched and held the herdof some four or five thousand head in the smooth, wide flat, free frombushes and dog holes. Each sat at ease on his horse facing the cattle,watching lazily the clouds of dust and the shifting beasts, but readyat any instant to turn back the restless or independent individualsthat might break for liberty.
Out of the haze came Homer, the round-up captain, on an easy lope. Ashe passed successively the sentries he delivered to each a low command,but without slacking pace. Some of those spoken to wheeled theirhorses and rode away. The others settled themselves in their saddlesand began to roll cigarettes.
"Change horses; get something to eat," said he to me; so I swung afterthe file traveling at a canter over the low swells beyond the plain.
The remuda had been driven by its leaders to a corner of the pasture'swire fence, and there held. As each man arrived he dismounted, threwoff his saddle, and turned his animal loose. Then he flipped a loop inhis rope and disappeared in the eddying herd. The discarded horse,with many grunts, indulged in a satisfying roll, shook himselfvigorously, and walked slowly away. His labour was over for the day,and he knew it, and took not the slightest trouble to get out of theway of the men with the swinging ropes.
Not so the fresh horses, however. They had no intention of beingcaught, if they could help it, but dodged and twisted, hid and doubledbehind the moving screen of their friends. The latter, seeming asusual to know they were not wanted, made no effort to avoid the men,which probably accounted in great measure for the fact that the herd asa body remained compact, in spite of the cowboys threading it, and inspite of the lack of an enclosure.
Our horses caught, we saddled as hastily as possible; and then at thetop speed of our fresh and eager ponies we swept down on the chuckwagon. There we fell off our saddles and descended on the meat andbread like ravenous locusts on a cornfield. The ponies stood where weleft them, "tied to the ground", the cattle-country fashion.
As soon as a man had stoked up for the afternoon he rode away. Somefinished before others, so across the plain formed an endlessprocession of men returning to the herd, and of those whom theyreplaced coming for their turn at the grub.
We found the herd quiet. Some were even lying down, chewing their cudsas peacefully as any barnyard cows. Most, however, stood ruminative, orwalked slowly to and fro in the confines allotted by the horsemen, sothat the herd looked from a distance like a brown carpet whose patternwas constantly changing--a dusty brown carpet in the process of beingbeaten. I relieved one of the watchers, and settled myself for a wait.
At this close inspection the different sorts of cattle showed moredistinctly their characteristics. The cows and calves generally restedpeacefully enough, the calf often lying down while the mother stoodguard over it. Steers, however, were more restless. They walkedceaselessly, threading their way in and out among the standing cattle,pausing in brutish amazement at the edge of the herd, and turning backimmediately to endless journeyings. The bulls, excited by so muchcompany forced on their accustomed solitary habit, roared defiance ateach other until the air fairly trembled. Occasionally two would clashforeheads. Then the powerful animals would push and wrestle, tryingfor a chance to gore. The decision of supremacy was a question of buta few minutes, and a bloody topknot the worst damage. The defeated oneside-stepped hastily and clumsily out of reach, and then walked away.
Most of the time all we had to do was to sit our horses and watch thesethings, to enjoy the warm bath of the Arizona sun, and to converse withour next neighbours. Once in a while some enterprising cow, observingthe opening between the men, would start to walk out. Others wouldfall in behind her until the movement would become general. Then oneof us would swing his leg off the pommel and jog his pony over to headthem off. They would return peacefully enough.
But one black muley cow, with a calf as black and muley as herself, wasmore persistent. Time after time, with infinite patience, she tried itagain the moment my back was turned. I tried driving her far into theherd. No use; she always returned. Quirtings and stones had no effecton her mild and steady persistence.
"She's a San Simon cow," drawled my neighbour. "Everybody knows her.She's at every round-up, just naturally raisin' hell."
When the last man had returned from chuck, Homer made the dispositionsfor the cut. There were present probably thirty men from the homeranches round about, and twenty representing owners at a distance, hereto pick up the strays inevitable to the season's drift. The round-upcaptain appointed two men to hold the cow-and-calf cut, and two more tohold the steer cut. Several of us rode into the herd, while theremainder retained their positions as sentinels to hold the main bodyof cattle in shape.
Little G and I rode slowly among the cattle looking everywhere. Theanimals moved sluggishly aside to give us passage, and closed in assluggishly behind us, so that we were always closely hemmed in whereverwe went. Over the shifting sleek backs, through the eddying clouds ofdust, I could make out the figures of my companions moving slowly,apparently aimlessly, here and there.
Our task for the moment was to search out the unbranded J H calves.Since in ranks so closely crowded it would be physically impossibleactually to see an animal's branded flank, we depended entirely on theear-marks.
Did you ever notice how any animal, tame or wild, always points hisears inquiringly in the direction of whatever interests or alarms him?Those ears are for the moment his most prominent feature. So when abrand is quite indistinguishable because, as now, of press of numbers,or, as in winter, from extreme length of hair, the cropped ears tellplainly the tale of ownership. As every animal is so marked whenbranded, it follows that an uncut pair of ears means that its owner hasnever felt the iron.
So, now we had to look first of all for calves with uncut ears. Afterdiscovering one, we had to ascertain his ownership by examining theear-marks of his mother, by whose side he was sure, in this alarmingmultitude, to be clinging faithfully.
Calves were numerous, and J H cows everywhere to be seen, so insomewhat less than ten seconds I had my eye on a mother and son.Immediately I turned Little G in their direction. At the slap of myquirt against the stirrup, all the cows immediately about me shranksuspiciously aside. Little G stepped forward daintily, his nostrilsexpanding, his ears working back and forth, trying to the best of hisability to understand which animals I had selected. The cow and hercalf turned in toward the centre of the herd. A touch of the reinsguided the pony. At once he comprehended. From that time on he neededno further directions.
Cautiously, patiently, with great skill, he forced the cow through thepress toward the edge of the herd. It had to be done very quietly, ata foot pace, so as to alarm neither the objects of pursuit nor thosesurrounding them. When the cow turned back, Little G somehow happenedalways in her way. Before she knew it she was at the outer edge of theherd. There she found herself, with a group of three or fourcompanions, facing the open plain. Instinctively she sought shelter.I felt Little G's muscles tighten beneath me. The moment for actionhad come. Before the cow had a chance to dodge among her companionsthe pony was upon her like a thunderbolt. She broke in alarm, tryingdesperately to avoid the rush. There ensued an exciting contest ofdodgings, turnings, and doublings. Wherever she turned Little G wasbefore her. Some of his evolutions were marvellous. All I had to dowas to sit my saddle, and apply just that final touch of judgmentdenied even the wisest of the lower animals. Time and again the turnwas so quick that the stirrup swept the ground. At last the cow,convinced of the uselessness of further effort to return, broke away ona long lumbering run to the open plain. She was stopped and held bythe men detailed, and so formed the nucleus of the new cut-herd.Immediately Little G, his ears working in conscious virtue, jog-trottedback into the herd, ready for another.
After a dozen cows had been sent across to the cut-herd, the worksimplified. Once a cow caught sight of this new
band, she generallymade directly for it, head and tail up. After the first short struggleto force her from the herd, all I had to do was to start her in theproper direction and keep her at it until her decision was fixed. Ifshe was too soon left to her own devices, however, she was likely toreturn. An old cowman knows to a second just the proper moment toabandon her.
Sometimes, in spite of our best efforts a cow succeeded in circling usand plunging into the main herd. The temptation was then strong toplunge in also, and to drive her out by main force; but the temptationhad to be resisted. A dash into the thick of it might break the wholeband. At once, of his own accord, Little G dropped to his fast,shuffling walk, and again we addressed ourselves to the task of pushingher gently to the edge.
This was all comparatively simple--almost any pony is fast enough forthe calf cut--but now Homer gave orders for the steer cut to begin, andsteers are rapid and resourceful and full of natural cussedness.Little G and I were relieved by Windy Bill, and betook ourselves to theoutside of the herd.
Here we had leisure to observe the effects that up to this moment wehad ourselves been producing. The herd, restless by reason of thehorsemen threading it, shifted, gave ground, expanded, and contracted,so that its shape and size were always changing in the constant areaguarded by the sentinel cowboys. Dust arose from these movements,clouds of it, to eddy and swirl, thicken and dissipate in the currentsof air. Now it concealed all but the nearest dimly-outlined animals;again it parted in rifts through which mistily we discerned the ridersmoving in and out of the fog; again it lifted high and thin, so that wesaw in clarity the whole herd and the outriders and the mesas far away.As the afternoon waned, long shafts of sun slanted through this dust.It played on men and beasts magically, expanding them to the dimensionsof strange genii, appearing and effacing themselves in the billows ofvapour from some enchanted bottle.
We on the outside found our sinecure of hot noon-tide filched from usby the cooler hours. The cattle, wearied of standing, and perhapssomewhat hungry and thirsty, grew more and more impatient. We rodecontinually back and forth, turning the slow movement in on itself.Occasionally some particularly enterprising cow would conclude that oneor another of the cut-herds would suit her better than this mill ofturmoil. She would start confidently out, head and tail up, findherself chased back, get stubborn on the question, and lead her pursuera long, hard run before she would return to her companions. Once in awhile one would even have to be roped and dragged back. For know,before something happens to you, that you can chase a cow safely onlyuntil she gets hot and winded. Then she stands her ground and getsemphatically "on the peck."
I remember very well when I first discovered this. It was after I hadhad considerable cow work, too. I thought of cows as I had always seenthem--afraid of a horseman, easy to turn with the pony, and willing tobe chased as far as necessary to the work. Nobody told me anythingdifferent. One day we were making a drive in an exceedingly brokencountry. I was bringing in a small bunch I had discovered in a pocketof the hills, but was excessively annoyed by one old cow that insistedon breaking back. In the wisdom of further experience, I now concludethat she probably had a calf in the brush. Finally she got awayentirely. After starting the bunch well ahead, I went after her.
Well, the cow and I ran nearly side by side for as much as half a mileat top speed. She declined to be headed. Finally she fell down andwas so entirely winded that she could not get up.
"Now, old girl, I've got you!" said I, and set myself to urging her toher feet.
The pony acted somewhat astonished, and suspicious of the job. Thereinhe knew a lot more than I did. But I insisted, and, like a good pony,he obeyed. I yelled at the cow, and slapped my bat, and used my quirt.When she had quite recovered her wind, she got slowly to her feet--andcharged me in a most determined manner.
Now, a bull, or a steer, is not difficult to dodge. He lowers hishead, shuts his eyes, and comes in on one straight rush. But a cowlooks to see what she is doing; her eyes are open every minute, and itoverjoys her to take a side hook at you even when you succeed ineluding her direct charge.
The pony I was riding did his best, but even then could not avoid asharp prod that would have ripped him up had not my leather bastosintervened. Then we retired to a distance in order to plan further;but we did not succeed in inducing that cow to revise her ideas, so atlast we left her. When, in some chagrin, I mentioned to the round-upcaptain the fact that I had skipped one animal, he merely laughed.
"Why, kid," said he, "you can't do nothin' with a cow that gets on theprod that away 'thout you ropes her; and what could you do with her outthere if you DID rope her?"
So I learned one thing more about cows.
After the steer cut had been finished, the men representing theneighbouring ranges looked through the herd for strays of their brands.These were thrown into the stray-herd, which had been brought up fromthe bottom lands to receive the new accessions. Work was pushedrapidly, as the afternoon was nearly gone.
In fact, so absorbed were we that until it was almost upon us we didnot notice a heavy thunder-shower that arose in the region of theDragoon Mountains, and swept rapidly across the zenith. Before we knewit the rain had begun. In ten seconds it had increased to a deluge,and in twenty we were all to leeward of the herd striving desperatelyto stop the drift of the cattle down wind.
We did everything in our power to stop them, but in vain. Slickerswaved, quirts slapped against leather, six-shooters flashed, but stillthe cattle, heads lowered, advanced with slow and sullen persistencethat would not be stemmed. If we held our ground, they divided aroundus. Step by step we were forced to give way--the thin line ofnervously plunging horses sprayed before the dense mass of the cattle.
"No, they won't stampede," shouted Charley to my question. "There'scows and calves in them. If they was just steers or grown critters,they might."
The sensations of those few moments were very vivid--the blinding beatof the storm in my face, the unbroken front of horned heads bearingdown on me, resistless as fate, the long slant of rain with the sunshining in the distance beyond it.
Abruptly the downpour ceased. We shook our hats free of water, anddrove the herd back to the cutting grounds again.
But now the surface of the ground was slippery, and the rapidmanoeuvring of horses had become a matter precarious in the extreme.Time and again the ponies fairly sat on their haunches and slid whennegotiating a sudden stop, while quick turns meant the rapidscramblings that only a cow-horse could accomplish. Nevertheless thework went forward unchecked. The men of the other outfits cut theircattle into the stray-herd. The latter was by now of considerablesize, for this was the third week of the round-up.
Finally everyone expressed himself as satisfied. The largelydiminished main herd was now started forward by means of shrill cowboycries and beating of quirts. The cattle were only too eager to go.From my position on a little rise above the stray-herd I could see theleaders breaking into a run, their heads thrown forward as they snuffedtheir freedom. On the mesa side the sentinel riders quietly withdrew.From the rear and flanks the horsemen closed in. The cattle poured outin a steady stream through the opening thus left on the mesa side. Thefringe of cowboys followed, urging them on. Abruptly the cavalcadeturned and came loping back. The cattle continued ahead on a trot,gradually spreading abroad over the landscape, losing their integrityas a herd. Some of the slower or hungrier dropped out and began tograze. Certain of the more wary disappeared to right or left.
Now, after the day's work was practically over, we had our firstaccident. The horse ridden by a young fellow from Dos Cabesas slipped,fell, and rolled quite over his rider. At once the animal lunged tohis feet, only to be immediately seized by the nearest rider. But theDos Cabesas man lay still, his arms and legs spread abroad, his headdoubled sideways in a horribly suggestive manner. We hopped off. Twomen straightened him out, while two more looked carefully over theindications on the ground.
"All right,"
sang out one of them, "the horn didn't catch him."
He pointed to the indentation left by the pommel. Indeed five minutesbrought the man to his senses. He complained of a very twisted back.Homer set one of the men in after the bed-wagon, by means of which thesufferer was shortly transported to camp. By the end of the week hewas again in the saddle. How men escape from this common accident withinjuries so slight has always puzzled me. The horse rolls completelyover his rider, and yet it seems to be the rarest thing in the worldfor the latter to be either killed or permanently injured.
Now each man had the privilege of looking through the J H cuts to seeif by chance steers of his own had been included in them. When all hadexpressed themselves as satisfied, the various bands were started tothe corrals.
From a slight eminence where I had paused to enjoy the evening I lookeddown on the scene. The three herds, separated by generous distance onefrom the other, crawled leisurely along; the riders, their hats thrustback, lolled in their saddles, shouting conversation to each other,relaxing after the day's work; through the clouds strong shafts oflight belittled the living creatures, threw into proportion thevastness of the desert.
Arizona Nights Page 6
