With Hoops of Steel

by Florence Finch Kelly

  CHAPTER VIII

  The round-up was almost finished, and, so far, Emerson Mead had wonthe day. Backed always by his two friends, he had compelled therecognition of every general claim which had been made, and in most ofthe daily quarrels his side had come out victor.

  Toward the end of the round-up, Mead and two _vaqueros_, accompaniedby Tuttle and Ellhorn, had worked all day, getting together ascattered band of cattle, and at night had them bunched at a waterhole near the edge of his range. The next day they were to be driven afew miles farther and joined with the droves collected by the FillmoreCompany's men and by two or three of his neighbors for the last workof the spring round-up. In the evening one of the cow-boys was sent tothe ranch house with a message to the foreman, and a little later theother was seized with a sudden illness from having drunk at an alkalispring during the day. Mead, Tuttle and Ellhorn then arranged to sharethe night in watches of three hours each with the cattle. Mead's beganat midnight. He saddled and mounted his horse and began the monotonouspatrol of the herd.

  There were some three hundred steers in the bunch of cattle. They lay,sleeping quietly, so closely huddled together that there was barelyroom for them to move. Occasionally, one lying at the outer edge gotup, stretched himself, nibbled a few bunches of grass, and then laydown again. Now and then, as one changed his position, a long, blowingbreath, or a satisfied grunt and groan, came out of the darkness. WhenMead started his horse on the slow walk round and round the sleepingherd the sky was clear. In its violet-blue the stars were blazing bigand bright, and he said to himself that the cattle would sleep quietlyand he would probably have an uneventful watch. He let the horse pokeround the circle at its own pace, while his thoughts wandered back tohis last visit to Las Plumas and hovered about the figure ofMarguerite Delarue as she stood beside her gate and took little Paulfrom his hands. With a sudden warming of the heart he saw again hertall figure in the pink gown, with the rose bloom in her cheeks andthe golden glimmer in her brown hair and the loving mother-look in hereyes as she smiled at the happy child. But with a sigh and a shake ofthe head he checked his thoughts and sent them to the mass-meeting andthe days he had spent in the jail.

  Presently it occurred to him that his watch must be nearly over and helooked up at the Great Dipper, swinging on its north star pivot. Thenhe smiled at himself, for it seemed scarcely to have changed positionsince he had mounted his horse. "Not an hour yet," was his mentalcomment. Clouds were beginning to roll up from the horizon, and hecould hear low mutterings of thunder and among the mountain tops seeoccasional flashes of lightning. Soon the sky was heavily overcast,and the darkness was so dense that it seemed palpable, like anenveloping, smothering cover, which might almost be grasped in thehands, torn down and thrown away. Mead could not see the horse's head,so, letting the reins lie loosely on its neck, he allowed the animalto pick its own way around the circle.

  The cattle began to show signs of nervousness, and from the huddledmass there came sounds of uneasy movements. Mead urged his horse intoa quicker walk and with one leg over its neck as they went round andround the herd, he sang to them in a crooning monotone, like amother's lullaby to a babe that is just dropping into dreamland. Itquieted the incipient disturbance, the rumbling thunder ceased for atime, and after a little moving about the cattle settled down to sleepagain.

  Suddenly, without forerunner or warning, a vivid flash of lightningcleft the clouds and a roar of thunder rattled and boomed from themountain peaks. And on the instant, as one animal, hurled by suddenfright, the whole band of cattle was on its feet and plunging forward.There was a snorting breath, a second of muffled noise as they sprangto their feet, and the whole stampeded herd was rushing pell-mellinto the darkness. They chanced to head toward Mead, and he, idlingalong with one leg over his saddle horn, with a quick jab of the spursent his pony in a long, quick leap to one side, barely in time toescape their maddened rush. A second's delay and he and his horsewould have been thrown down by the sheer overpowering mass of thefrenzied creatures and trampled under their hoofs, for the horn of aplunging steer tore the leg of his overalls as the mad animals passed.Away went the herd, silent, through the dense blackness of the night,running at the top of their speed. And Mead, spurring his horse, wasafter them without a moment's loss of time, galloping close beside thefrightened beasts, alertly watchful lest they might suddenly changetheir course and trample him down. They ran in a close mass, straightahead, paying heed to nothing, beating under their hoofs whateverstood in their way.

  They rushed crazily on through the darkness which was so intense thatMead's face seemed to cleave it as the head cleaves water when onedives. He galloped so close to the running band that by reaching outone arm he could almost touch one or another heaving side. But hecould see nothing, not a tossing horn nor a lumbering back of thewhole three hundred steers, except when an occasional flash oflightning gave him a second's half-blinded glimpse of the plungingmass. By hearing rather than by sight he could outline the rushinghuddle at his right hand. And watching it as intently as if it hadbeen a rattlesnake ready to strike, he galloped on by its side in awild race through the darkness, over the plain, up and down hills,through cactus and sagebrush, over boulders and through treacherous,tunneled prairie dog towns, plunging headlong into whatever might bein front of them.

  From the rushing herd beside him there came the muffled roar of theirthousand hoofs, overtoned by the constant popping and scraping oftheir clashing horns. The noise filled his ears and could not quite bedrowned even by the rattling peals of thunder. Swift drops of rainstung his face and the water of a pelting shower dripped from his hatbrim and trickled from his boot heels. The beating rain, the vividflashes of lightning and the loud peals of thunder drove the maddenedcreatures on at a still faster pace. Mead put frequent spurs to hishorse and held on to the side of the mob of cattle, bent only on goingwherever they went and being with them at the dawn, when it might bepossible to get them under control.

  They plunged on at a frenzied gallop through the darkness and thestorm, and when at last the sky brightened and a wet, gray light madethe earth dimly visible, Mead could see beside him a close huddle oflumbering, straining backs and over it a tangle of tossing andknocking horns. The crowding, crazy herd, and he beside it, wererushing pell-mell down a long, sloping hill. With one keen, sweepingglance through the dim light and the streaming rain he saw a clump oftrees, which meant water, at the foot of the hill, and near it a herdof cattle, some lying down, and some standing with heads up, lookingtoward him; while his own senseless mass of thundering hoofs andknocking horns was headed straight toward them.

  With a whooping yell he dashed at the head of the plunging herd, senta pistol ball whizzing in front of their eyes and with a quick, sharpturn leaped his horse to one side, barely in time to escape the hoofsand horns of the nearest steer. They swerved a little, and making adetour he came yelling down upon them again, with his horse at itstopmost speed, and sent a bullet crashing through the skull of thecreature in the lead. It dropped to its knees, struggled a moment,fell over dead, and the herd turned a little more to the right.Spurring his horse till it leaped, straining, with outstretched legs,he charged the head of the rushing column again, and bending low firedhis revolver close over their heads. Again they swerved a little tothe right, and dashing past the foremost point he sent a pistol ballinto the eye of the leader. It fell, struggling, and with a suddenjerk he swung the horse round on its hind legs and struck home thespurs for a quick, long leap, for he was directly in the front of theracing herd. As the horse's fore feet came down on the wet earth itslipped, and fell to its knees, scrambled an instant and was upagain, and leaped to one side with a bleeding flank, torn by the hornsof the leading steer. The startled animals had made a more decidedturn to the right, and by scarcely more than a hand's breadth horseand rider had escaped their hoofs. The crazy, maddened creaturesslackened their pace and the outermost ones and those in the rearbegan to drop off, one by one, grazing and tailing off behind in astraggling process
ion. Another rush, and Mead had the mob of cattle,half turned back on itself, struggling, twisting and turning in abewildered mass. The stampeding impulse had been checked, but thesenseless brutes were not yet subdued to their usual state.

  Glancing down the hill to the clump of trees, he saw men rushing aboutand horses being saddled. Shouting and yelling, he rushed again at theturned flank of his herd, firing his pistol under their noses, forcingthe leaders this time to turn tail completely and trot toward the rearof the band. The rest followed, and with another furious yell heswerved them again to the right and forced them into a circle, a sortof endless chain of cattle, trotting round and round. He knew theywould keep up that motion until they were thoroughly subdued andrestored to their senses, and would then scatter over the hillside tograze.

  He had conquered the crazy herd of cattle, but four horsemen weregalloping up the hill, and he knew they were part of the FillmoreCompany's outfit. He reloaded his revolver, put it in its holster,and rode a little way toward them. Then he checked his horse andwaited, with his back to the "milling" herd, for them to come nearenough to hail. Through the lances of the rain he could see thatone of the men was Jim Halliday, the deputy sheriff from Las Plumas,who had arrested him on the night of the mass-meeting. Another herecognized as the Fillmore Company's foreman, and the two othershe knew were cow-boys. One of these he saw was a red-headed,red-whiskered Mexican known as Antone Colorow--Red Antony--who wasfamous in all that region for the skill with which he could throw thelariat. His eye was accurate and his wrist was quick and supple, andit was his greatest pride in life that the rope never missed landingwhere he meant it should.