The Light of the Western Stars

by Zane Grey

  V. The Round-Up

  It was a crackling and roaring of fire that awakened Madeline nextmorning, and the first thing she saw was a huge stone fireplace in whichlay a bundle of blazing sticks. Some one had kindled a fire while sheslept. For a moment the curious sensation of being lost returned to her.She just dimly remembered reaching the ranch and being taken into a hugehouse and a huge, dimly lighted room. And it seemed to her that she hadgone to sleep at once, and had awakened without remembering how she hadgotten to bed.

  But she was wide awake in an instant. The bed stood near one end of anenormous chamber. The adobe walls resembled a hall in an ancient feudalcastle, stone-floored, stone-walled, with great darkened rafters runningacross the ceiling. The few articles of furniture were worn out andsadly dilapidated. Light flooded into the room from two windows on theright of the fireplace and two on the left, and another large windownear the bedstead. Looking out from where she lay, Madeline saw a dark,slow up-sweep of mountain. Her eyes returned to the cheery, snappingfire, and she watched it while gathering courage to get up. The room wascold. When she did slip her bare feet out upon the stone floor she veryquickly put them back under the warm blankets. And she was still inbed trying to pluck up her courage when, with a knock on the door and acheerful greeting, Florence entered, carrying steaming hot water.

  "Good mawnin', Miss Hammond. Hope you slept well. You sure were tiredlast night. I imagine you'll find this old rancho house as cold as abarn. It'll warm up directly. Al's gone with the boys and Bill. We're toride down on the range after a while when your baggage comes."

  Florence wore a woolen blouse with a scarf round her neck, ashort corduroy divided skirt, and boots; and while she talked sheenergetically heaped up the burning wood in the fireplace, and laidMadeline's clothes at the foot of the bed, and heated a rug and put thaton the floor by the bedside. And lastly, with a sweet, direct smile, shesaid:

  "Al told me--and I sure saw myself--that you weren't used to beingwithout your maid. Will you let me help you?"

  "Thank you, I am going to be my own maid for a while. I expect I doappear a very helpless individual, but really I do not feel so. PerhapsI have had just a little too much waiting on."

  "All right. Breakfast will be ready soon, and after that we'll lookabout the place."

  Madeline was charmed with the old Spanish house, and the more she saw ofit the more she thought what a delightful home it could be made. Allthe doors opened into a courtyard, or patio, as Florence called it. Thehouse was low, in the shape of a rectangle, and so immense in size thatMadeline wondered if it had been a Spanish barracks. Many of the roomswere dark, without windows, and they were empty. Others were full ofranchers' implements and sacks of grain and bales of hay. Florencecalled these last alfalfa. The house itself appeared strong and wellpreserved, and it was very picturesque. But in the living-rooms wereonly the barest necessities, and these were worn out and comfortless.

  However, when Madeline went outdoors she forgot the cheerless, bareinterior. Florence led the way out on a porch and waved a hand at avast, colored void. "That's what Bill likes," she said.

  At first Madeline could not tell what was sky and what was land. Theimmensity of the scene stunned her faculties of conception. She sat downin one of the old rocking-chairs and looked and looked, and knew thatshe was not grasping the reality of what stretched wondrously beforeher.

  "We're up at the edge of the foothills," Florence said. "You remember werode around the northern end of the mountain range? Well, that's behindus now, and you look down across the line into Arizona and Mexico. Thatlong slope of gray is the head of the San Bernardino Valley. Straightacross you see the black Chiricahua Mountains, and away down to thesouth the Guadalupe Mountains. That awful red gulf between is thedesert, and far, far beyond the dim, blue peaks are the Sierra Madres inMexico."

  Madeline listened and gazed with straining eyes, and wondered if thiswas only a stupendous mirage, and why it seemed so different from allelse that she had seen, and so endless, so baffling, so grand.

  "It'll sure take you a little while to get used to being up high andseeing so much," explained Florence. "That's the secret--we're up high,the air is clear, and there's the whole bare world beneath us. Don'tit somehow rest you? Well, it will. Now see those specks in the valley.They are stations, little towns. The railroad goes down that way. Thelargest speck is Chiricahua. It's over forty miles by trail. Here roundto the north you can see Don Carlos's rancho. He's fifteen miles off,and I sure wish he were a thousand. That little green square abouthalf-way between here and Don Carlos--that's Al's ranch. Just below usare the adobe houses of the Mexicans. There's a church, too. And here tothe left you see Stillwell's corrals and bunk-houses and his stables allfalling to pieces. The ranch has gone to ruin. All the ranches are goingto ruin. But most of them are little one-horse affairs. And here--seethat cloud of dust down in the valley? It's the round-up. The boys arethere, and the cattle. Wait, I'll get the glasses."

  By their aid Madeline saw in the foreground a great, dense herd ofcattle with dark, thick streams and dotted lines of cattle leading inevery direction. She saw streaks and clouds of dust, running horses, anda band of horses grazing; and she descried horsemen standing still likesentinels, and others in action.

  "The round-up! I want to know all about it--to see it," declaredMadeline. "Please tell me what it means, what it's for, and then take medown there."

  "It's sure a sight, Miss Hammond. I'll be glad to take you down, but Ifancy you'll not want to go close. Few Eastern people who regularly eattheir choice cuts of roast beef and porterhouse have any idea of theopen range and the struggle cattle have to live and the hard life ofcowboys. It'll sure open your eyes, Miss Hammond. I'm glad you care toknow. Your brother would have made a big success in this cattle businessif it hadn't been for crooked work by rival ranchers. He'll make it yet,in spite of them."

  "Indeed he shall," replied Madeline. "But tell me, please, all about theround-up."

  "Well, in the first place, every cattleman has to have a brand toidentify his stock. Without it no cattleman, nor half a hundred cowboys,if he had so many, could ever recognize all the cattle in a big herd.There are no fences on our ranges. They are all open to everybody. Someday I hope we'll be rich enough to fence a range. The different herdsgraze together. Every calf has to be caught, if possible, and brandedwith the mark of its mother. That's no easy job. A maverick is anunbranded calf that has been weaned and shifts for itself. The maverickthen belongs to the man who finds it and brands it. These little calvesthat lose their mothers sure have a cruel time of it. Many of them die.Then the coyotes and wolves and lions prey on them. Every year we havetwo big round-ups, but the boys do some branding all the year. A calfshould be branded as soon as it's found. This is a safeguard againstcattle-thieves. We don't have the rustling of herds and bunches ofcattle like we used to. But there's always the calf-thief, and alwayswill be as long as there's cattle-raising. The thieves have a good manycunning tricks. They kill the calf's mother or slit the calf's tongueso it can't suck and so loses its mother. They steal and hide a calfand watch it till it's big enough to fare for itself, and then brand it.They make imperfect brands and finish them at a later time.

  "We have our big round-up in the fall, when there's plenty of grass andwater, and all the riding-stock as well as the cattle are in fine shape.The cattlemen in the valley meet with their cowboys and drive in all thecattle they can find. Then they brand and cut out each man's herdand drive it toward home. Then they go on up or down the valley, makeanother camp, and drive in more cattle. It takes weeks. There areso many Greasers with little bands of stock, and they are crafty andgreedy. Bill says he knows Greaser cowboys, vaqueros, who never owneda steer or a cow, and now they've got growing herds. The same might besaid of more than one white cowboy. But there's not as much of that asthere used to be."

  "And the horses? I want to know about them," said Madeline, whenFlorence paused.

  "Oh, the cow-ponies! Well, they sure are intere
sting. Broncos, the boyscall them. Wild! they're wilder than the steers they have to chase.Bill's got broncos heah that never have been broken and never will be.And not every boy can ride them, either. The vaqueros have the finesthorses. Don Carlos has a black that I'd give anything to own. And hehas other fine stock. Gene Stewart's big roan is a Mexican horse, theswiftest and proudest I ever saw. I was up on him once and--oh, he canrun! He likes a woman, too, and that's sure something I want in a horse.I heard Al and Bill talking at breakfast about a horse for you. Theywere wrangling. Bill wanted you to have one, and Al another. It wasfunny to hear them. Finally they left the choice to me, until theround-up is over. Then I suppose every cowboy on the range will offeryou his best mount. Come, let's go out to the corrals and look over thefew horses left."

  For Madeline the morning hours flew by, with a goodly part of the timespent on the porch gazing out over that ever-changing vista. At noona teamster drove up with her trunks. Then while Florence helped theMexican woman get lunch Madeline unpacked part of her effects and gotout things for which she would have immediate need. After lunch shechanged her dress for a riding-habit and, going outside, found Florencewaiting with the horses.

  The Western girl's clear eyes seemed to take stock of Madeline'sappearance in one swift, inquisitive glance and then shone withpleasure.

  "You sure look--you're a picture, Miss Hammond. That riding-outfit isa new one. What it 'd look like on me or another woman I can't imagine,but on you it's--it's stunning. Bill won't let you go within a mile ofthe cowboys. If they see you that'll be the finish of the round-up."

  While they rode down the slope Florence talked about the open ranges ofNew Mexico and Arizona.

  "Water is scarce," she said. "If Bill could afford to pipe water downfrom the mountains he'd have the finest ranch in the valley."

  She went on to tell that the climate was mild in winter and hot insummer. Warm, sunshiny days prevailed nearly all the year round. Somesummers it rained, and occasionally there would be a dry year, thedreaded ano seco of the Mexicans. Rain was always expected and prayedfor in the midsummer months, and when it came the grama-grass sprangup, making the valleys green from mountain to mountain. The intersectingvalleys, ranging between the long slope of foothills, afforded the bestpasture for cattle, and these were jealously sought by the Mexicanswho had only small herds to look after. Stillwell's cowboys were alwayschasing these vaqueros off land that belonged to Stillwell. He ownedtwenty thousand acres of unfenced land adjoining the open range. DonCarlos possessed more acreage than that, and his cattle were alwaysmingling with Stillwell's. And in turn Don Carlos's vaqueros were alwayschasing Stillwell's cattle away from the Mexican's watering-place. Badfeeling had been manifested for years, and now relations were strainedto the breaking-point.

  As Madeline rode along she made good use of her eyes. The soil wassandy and porous, and she understood why the rain and water from thefew springs disappeared so quickly. At a little distance the grama-grassappeared thick, but near at hand it was seen to be sparse. Bunches ofgreasewood and cactus plants were interspersed here and there inthe grass. What surprised Madeline was the fact that, though she andFlorence had seemed to be riding quite awhile, they had apparently notdrawn any closer to the round-up. The slope of the valley was noticeableonly after some miles had been traversed. Looking forward, Madelineimagined the valley only a few miles wide. She would have been sure shecould walk her horse across it in an hour. Yet that black, bold rangeof Chiricahua Mountains was distant a long day's journey for even ahard-riding cowboy. It was only by looking back that Madeline couldgrasp the true relation of things; she could not be deceived by distanceshe had covered.

  Gradually the black dots enlarged and assumed shape of cattle and horsesmoving round a great dusty patch. In another half-hour Madeline rodebehind Florence to the outskirts of the scene of action. They drew reinnear a huge wagon in the neighborhood of which were more than a hundredhorses grazing and whistling and trotting about and lifting heads towatch the new-comers. Four cowboys stood mounted guard over this droveof horses. Perhaps a quarter of a mile farther out was a dusty melee.A roar of tramping hoofs filled Madeline's ears. The lines of marchingcattle had merged into a great, moving herd half obscured by dust.

  "I can make little of what is going on," said Madeline. "I want to gocloser."

  They trotted across half the intervening distance, and when Florencehalted again Madeline was still not satisfied and asked to be takennearer. This time, before they reined in again, Al Hammond saw them andwheeled his horse in their direction. He yelled something which Madelinedid not understand, and then halted them.

  "Close enough," he called; and in the din his voice was not very clear."It's not safe. Wild steers! I'm glad you came, girls. Majesty, what doyou think of that bunch of cattle?"

  Madeline could scarcely reply what she thought, for the noise and dustand ceaseless action confused her.

  "They're milling, Al," said Florence.

  "We just rounded them up. They're milling, and that's bad. The vaquerosare hard drivers. They beat us all hollow, and we drove some, too." Hewas wet with sweat, black with dust, and out of breath. "I'm off now.Flo, my sister will have enough of this in about two minutes. Take herback to the wagon. I'll tell Bill you're here, and run in whenever I geta minute."

  The bawling and bellowing, the crackling of horns and pounding of hoofs,the dusty whirl of cattle, and the flying cowboys disconcerted Madelineand frightened her a little; but she was intensely interested and meantto stay there until she saw for herself what that strife of sound andaction meant. When she tried to take in the whole scene she did not makeout anything clearly and she determined to see it little by little.

  "Will you stay longer?" asked Florence; and, receiving an affirmativereply, she warned Madeline: "If a runaway steer or angry cow comes thisway let your horse go. He'll get out of the way."

  That lent the situation excitement, and Madeline became absorbed. Thegreat mass of cattle seemed to be eddying like a whirlpool, and fromthat Madeline understood the significance of the range word "milling."But when Madeline looked at one end of the herd she saw cattle standingstill, facing outward, and calves cringing close in fear. The motionof the cattle slowed from the inside of the herd to the outside andgradually ceased. The roar and tramp of hoofs and crack of horns andthump of heads also ceased in degree, but the bawling and bellowingcontinued. While she watched, the herd spread, grew less dense, andstragglers appeared to be about to bolt through the line of mountedcowboys.

  From that moment so many things happened, and so swiftly, that Madelinecould not see a tenth of what was going on within eyesight. It seemedhorsemen darted into the herd and drove out cattle. Madeline pinned hergaze on one cowboy who rode a white horse and was chasing a steer. Hewhirled a lasso around his head and threw it; the rope streaked outand the loop caught the leg of the steer. The white horse stopped withwonderful suddenness, and the steer slid in the dust. Quick as a flashthe cowboy was out of the saddle, and, grasping the legs of the steerbefore it could rise, he tied them with a rope. It had all been donealmost as quickly as thought. Another man came with what Madelinedivined was a branding-iron. He applied it to the flank of the steer.Then it seemed the steer was up with a jump, wildly looking for some wayto run, and the cowboy was circling his lasso. Madeline saw fires in thebackground, with a man in charge, evidently heating the irons. Then thissame cowboy roped a heifer which bawled lustily when the hot iron searedits hide. Madeline saw the smoke rising from the touch of the iron,and the sight made her shrink and want to turn away, but she resolutelyfought her sensitiveness. She had never been able to bear the sight ofany animal suffering. The rough work in men's lives was as a sealed bookto her; and now, for some reason beyond her knowledge, she wanted tosee and hear and learn some of the every-day duties that made up thoselives.

  "Look, Miss Hammond, there's Don Carlos!" said Florence. "Look at thatblack horse!"

  Madeleine saw a dark-faced Mexican riding by. He was too far away forhe
r to distinguish his features, but he reminded her of an Italianbrigand. He bestrode a magnificent horse.

  Stillwell rode up to the girls then and greeted them in his big voice.

  "Right in the thick of it, hey? Wal, thet's sure fine. I'm glad to see,Miss Majesty, thet you ain't afraid of a little dust or smell of burnin'hide an' hair."

  "Couldn't you brand the calves without hurting them?" asked Madeline.

  "Haw, haw! Why, they ain't hurt none. They jest bawl for their mammas.Sometimes, though, we hev to hurt one jest to find which is his mamma."

  "I want to know how you tell what brand to put on those calves that areseparated from their mothers," asked Madeline.

  "Thet's decided by the round-up bosses. I've one boss an' Don Carloshas one. They decide everything, an' they hev to be obyed. There's NickSteele, my boss. Watch him! He's ridin' a bay in among the cattle there.He orders the calves an' steers to be cut out. Then the cowboys do thecuttin' out an' the brandin'. We try to divide up the mavericks as nearas possible."

  At this juncture Madeline's brother joined the group, evidently insearch of Stillwell.

  "Bill, Nels just rode in," he said.

  "Good! We sure need him. Any news of Danny Mains?"

  "No. Nels said he lost the trail when he got on hard ground."

  "Wal, wal. Say, Al, your sister is sure takin' to the round-up. An' theboys are gettin' wise. See thet sun-of-a-gun Ambrose cuttin' capersall around. He'll sure do his prettiest. Ambrose is a ladies' man, hethinks."

  The two men and Florence joined in a little pleasant teasing ofMadeline, and drew her attention to what appeared to be reallyunnecessary feats of horsemanship all made in her vicinity. The cowboysevinced their interest in covert glances while recoiling a lasso orwhile passing to and fro. It was all too serious for Madeline to beamused at that moment. She did not care to talk. She sat her horse andwatched.

  The lithe, dark vaqueros fascinated her. They were here, there,everywhere, with lariats flying, horses plunging back, jerking calvesand yearlings to the grass. They were cruel to their mounts, cruel totheir cattle. Madeline winced as the great silver rowels of the spurswent plowing into the flanks of their horses. She saw these spursstained with blood, choked with hair. She saw the vaqueros break thelegs of calves and let them lie till a white cowboy came along and shotthem. Calves were jerked down and dragged many yards; steers were pulledby one leg. These vaqueros were the most superb horsemen Madeline hadever seen, and she had seen the Cossacks and Tatars of the Russiansteppes. They were swift, graceful, daring; they never failed to catcha running steer, and the lassoes always went true. What sharp dashesthe horses made, and wheelings here and there, and sudden stops, and howthey braced themselves to withstand the shock!

  The cowboys, likewise, showed wonderful horsemanship, and, reckless asthey were, Madeline imagined she saw consideration for steed and cattlethat was wanting in the vaqueros. They changed mounts oftener than theMexican riders, and the horses they unsaddled for fresh ones were not sospent, so wet, so covered with lather. It was only after an hour or moreof observation that Madeline began to realize the exceedingly toilsomeand dangerous work cowboys had to perform. There was little or no restfor them. They were continually among wild and vicious and wide-hornedsteers. In many instances they owed their lives to their horses. Thedanger came mostly when the cowboy leaped off to tie and brand a calf hehad thrown. Some of the cows charged with lowered, twisting horns. Timeand again Madeline's heart leaped to her throat for fear a man would begored. One cowboy roped a calf that bawled loudly. Its mother dashed inand just missed the kneeling cowboy as he rolled over. Then he had torun, and he could not run very fast. He was bow-legged and appearedawkward. Madeline saw another cowboy thrown and nearly run over by aplunging steer. His horse bolted as if it intended to leave the range.Then close by Madeline a big steer went down at the end of a lasso.The cowboy who had thrown it nimbly jumped down, and at that moment hishorse began to rear and prance and suddenly to lower his head close tothe ground and kick high. He ran round in a circle, the fallen steer onthe taut lasso acting as a pivot. The cowboy loosed the rope from thesteer, and then was dragged about on the grass. It was almost frightfulfor Madeline to see that cowboy go at his horse. But she recognized themastery and skill. Then two horses came into collision on the run. Onehorse went down; the rider of the other was unseated and was kickedbefore he could get up. This fellow limped to his mount and struck athim, while the horse showed his teeth in a vicious attempt to bite.

  All the while this ceaseless activity was going on there was a strangeuproar--bawl and bellow, the shock of heavy bodies meeting and falling,the shrill jabbering of the vaqueros, and the shouts and banterings ofthe cowboys. They took sharp orders and replied in jest. They went aboutthis stern toil as if it were a game to be played in good humor. Onesang a rollicking song, another whistled, another smoked a cigarette.The sun was hot, and they, like their horses, were dripping with sweat.The characteristic red faces had taken on so much dust that cowboyscould not be distinguished from vaqueros except by the difference indress. Blood was not wanting on tireless hands. The air was thick,oppressive, rank with the smell of cattle and of burning hide.

  Madeline began to sicken. She choked with dust, was almost stifledby the odor. But that made her all the more determined to stay there.Florence urged her to come away, or at least move back out of theworst of it. Stillwell seconded Florence. Madeline, however, smilinglyrefused. Then her brother said: "Here, this is making you sick. You'repale." And she replied that she intended to stay until the day's workended. Al gave her a strange look, and made no more comment. The kindlyStillwell then began to talk.

  "Miss Majesty, you're seein' the life of the cattleman an' cowboy--thereal thing--same as it was in the early days. The ranchers in Texas an'some in Arizona hev took on style, new-fangled idees thet are good,an' I wish we could follow them. But we've got to stick to theold-fashioned, open-range round-up. It looks cruel to you, I can seethet. Wal, mebbe so, mebbe so. Them Greasers are cruel, thet's certain.Fer thet matter, I never seen a Greaser who wasn't cruel. But I reckonall the strenuous work you've seen to-day ain't any tougher than mostany day of a cowboy's life. Long hours on hossback, poor grub, sleepin'on the ground, lonesome watches, dust an' sun an' wind an' thirst, dayin an' day out all the year round--thet's what a cowboy has.

  "Look at Nels there. See, what little hair he has is snow-white. He'sred an' thin an' hard--burned up. You notice thet hump of his shoulders.An' his hands, when he gets close--jest take a peep at his hands. Nelscan't pick up a pin. He can't hardly button his shirt or untie a knot inhis rope. He looks sixty years--an old man. Wal, Nels 'ain't seen forty.He's a young man, but he's seen a lifetime fer every year. Miss Majesty,it was Arizona thet made Nels what he is, the Arizona desert an' thework of a cowman. He's seen ridin' at Canyon Diablo an' the Verdi an'Tonto Basin. He knows every mile of Aravaipa Valley an' the Pinalenocountry. He's ranged from Tombstone to Douglas. He hed shot bad whitemen an' bad Greasers before he was twenty-one. He's seen some life, Nelshas. My sixty years ain't nothin'; my early days in the Staked Plainsan' on the border with Apaches ain't nothin' to what Nels has seen an'lived through. He's just come to be part of the desert; you might sayhe's stone an' fire an' silence an' cactus an' force. He's a man, MissMajesty, a wonderful man. Rough he'll seem to you. Wal, I'll show youpieces of quartz from the mountains back of my ranch an' they're thetrough they'd cut your hands. But there's pure gold in them. An' so it iswith Nels an' many of these cowboys.

  "An' there's Price--Monty Price. Monty stands fer Montana, where hehails from. Take a good look at him, Miss Majesty. He's been hurt, Ireckon. Thet accounts fer him bein' without hoss or rope; an' thet limp.Wal, he's been ripped a little. It's sure rare an seldom thet a cowboygets foul of one of them thousands of sharp horns; but it does happen."

  Madeline saw a very short, wizened little man, ludicrously bow-legged,with a face the color and hardness of a burned-out cinder. He washobbling by toward the wagon, and on
e of his short, crooked legsdragged.

  "Not much to look at, is he?" went on Stillwell. "Wal; I know it'snatural thet we're all best pleased by good looks in any one, even aman. It hedn't ought to be thet way. Monty Price looks like hell. Butappearances are sure deceivin'. Monty saw years of ridin' along theMissouri bottoms, the big prairies, where there's high grass an'sometimes fires. In Montana they have blizzards that freeze cattlestandin' in their tracks. An' hosses freeze to death. They tell me theta drivin' sleet in the face with the mercury forty below is somethin' toride against. You can't get Monty to say much about cold. All you hevto do is to watch him, how he hunts the sun. It never gets too hot ferMonty. Wal, I reckon he was a little more prepossessin' once. The storythet come to us about Monty is this: He got caught out in a prairie firean' could hev saved himself easy, but there was a lone ranch right inthe line of fire, an' Monty knowed the rancher was away, an' his wifean' baby was home. He knowed, too, the way the wind was, thet theranch-house would burn. It was a long chance he was takin'. But he wentover, put the woman up behind him, wrapped the baby an' his hoss's haidin a wet blanket, an' rode away. Thet was sure some ride, I've heerd.But the fire ketched Monty at the last. The woman fell an' was lost,an' then his hoss. An' Monty ran an' walked an' crawled through the firewith thet baby, an' he saved it. Monty was never much good as a cowboyafter thet. He couldn't hold no jobs. Wal, he'll have one with me aslong as I have a steer left."