Charles A. Siringo

by Fifteen Years on the Hurricane Deck of a Spanish Pony A Texas Cowboy or

  PART IV.

  The cow-pony-and how he is abused on the large cattle ranches.

  IT REQUIRES at least five ponies to each man, on a large cattle ranch; on a small one, where the amount of work, such as rounding-up, cutting, etc. is less, the number can be cut down.

  A cow boy should be allowed to keep the same ponies just as long as he remains on the ranch, as he becomes attached to them, and they to him.

  If you want to see a cow boy on the war-path, and have him quit, just take away one of his good ponies. Of course, if he has got one that is “no good” he won’t kick, as he thinks he might get a better one in its place.

  A cow boy always has one or two, “cutting” horses in his “mount” which he uses only on special occasions—when he wants to “show off.” Any of his ponies will do to “cut” cattle on, but this one he dotes on, is so much better than the rest that he keeps him fat and well rested for those special occasions.

  To illustrate what the word “cutting” means, will try and explain:

  After all the cattle in a radius of from ten to twenty miles are driven or run into one bunch, it is called a “round-up.” I have seen as high as 50,000 head in one of those round-ups.

  Now, we will say those 50,000 head belong to at least 50 different owners. And you being one of the owners and wanting to get your cattle home onto your own range you would have to put your men to work cutting them out—one at a time. Of course, once in a while a fellow gets a chance to “cut” two or three or half a dozen at a time—for instance, where a little bunch is standing on the outer edge, where you can dart in and “cut” them out before they realize what’s up.

  Now to begin, you will send about two men, on good “cutting” horses, into the round-up to begin “cutting” them out, while the rest of you help hold the round-up close together—or into a compact form—and keep the ones that are already “cut” out from getting back. The “cut” is watched, to keep it from getting too far off, by one man. The distance between the “cut” and round-up is from one to three hundred yards. About two good men on quick horses are generally placed between the “cut” and round-up, so that when the ones who are “cutting” runs an animal out they take it and keep it going until it reaches the “cut,” or at least gets so near that it will go on of its own accord.

  A “cutting” pony to be considered a “Joe-dandy” has to be awful quick as well as limber. An old experienced one can be guided with the little finger—that is, by holding the bridle-reins on the end of the little finger. While performing the “cutting” act he will move along as though half asleep, until the animal is near the outer edge, when all at once he will make a spring forward and take the steer or cow out at a break neck gait. No matter how the animal dodges in its mad effort to get back he will be right at its heels or side. Sometimes of course the best of “cutting” ponies will fail to bring the animal out—especially when tired or over heated, or when the animal gets on the war-path and goes to fighting.

  The cow-pony is a terribly abused animal, especially in large outfits, where so many different men are at work. It requires treble the number of men on a cow-ranch in the summer that it does in winter, therefore it will be seen that most of the cow-ponies are subject to a new master every season, if not oftener.

  For instance; a man goes to work on a large ranch, and is given five or six horses for his regular “mount.” Maybe he has just hired for a few months, during the busiest part of the season, and therefore does not care to take the interest in the welfare of his ponies, as if he was going to remain for an indefinite period.

  Now this man quits late in the fall, and his ponies are turned loose on the range to rustle a living as best they can until spring, at which time they are caught up again and given to some other new hand, who will put them through the same old mill again all summer.

  To give you a faint idea of how some of the poor dumb brutes suffer, I will try and illustrate—that is, dear reader if you will let me use you a few moments:

  Now to begin with; lean back, shut your eyes and imagine yourself an old knee-sprung, poor, sore-backed pony, whose hips and shoulders are scarred up with spanish brands and spur gashes.

  It is now early spring; the green grass is just beginning to show itself. You are feeling happy after your long rest, and the thoughts of having plenty of green, tender grass to eat, instead of having to root amongst the snow and ice for a few sprigs of dry tasteless herbs.

  But your happiness is of short duration; for here comes a crowd of the “old” hands on their fat corn-fed ponies to round you in; for spring work is about to commence. You break and run, to try and get away, but you are too weak; they soon overtake you, and start you towards the “home-ranch.”

  You are driven into the corral with the rest of your bony looking companions. The old last year’s sore on your back has healed up and a new coat of hair is just starting to grow over it.

  Here comes the boss down to the corral with a lot of new men he has hired for the summer. He is going down to give each man a “mount” out of the herd of extras, of which, patient reader, you are supposed to be one.

  You are leaning against the fence scratching yourself when a rope is pitched over your head.

  “Here ‘Curly!’ you can take this fellow for one of yours,” yells the boss as he drags you towards the gate to meet “Curly,” who is coming in a dog-trot to put his rope on you.

  Now this man “Curly,” your new master, has just returned from the east, where he has been spending the winter with the old folks, and telling the boys around town about the fun he had last summer on the staked plains, roping coyotes, etc. A couple of those “new” men who are standing at the gate, are old play-mates whom he has persuaded to leave their happy homes and become cow boys too.

  After each man has been supplied with a “mount,” you are taken out, with the other four or five of “Curly’s” ponies and turned loose in the “ramutha”2—the herd of ponies which are to accompany the outfit on the “general round-up.”

  The outfit has now been on the road two days. They have been traveling hard to get to a certain place where all the different outfits, for a hundred miles, north, south, east and west, will meet on a certain day to begin “rounding up.”

  The place is reached about sundown. The little valley is dotted here and there with white-topped wagons—and still they come; wending their way down ravines from every quarter.

  After supper the bosses all meet at one of the camps and lay out plans for work on the following day.

  Next morning at the first peep of day everybody is eating breakfast, in all the different camps.

  The morning meal being over, the “ramutha,” which has been guarded all night, is driven up to camp and each man ropes the horse he wants for the days’ work.

  “Curly” catches you for the first time, since turning you loose in the “ramutha” before leaving the ranch.

  When he goes to throw his old shell of a saddle on your back, you give a snort and go to pitching—like nearly all spanish ponies, after having rested a few months—which causes Mr. “Curly’s” blood to become riled. So he, after you get your spree out, puts a hitch on your nose and begins to tame you, by beating you over the head and back with a doubled rope.

  He finally gets you saddled, but when he goes to mount, you let in to pitching again. But he manages to stick onto you.

  Everybody being in their saddles the boss tells “Bill,” one of the old hands, to take “Curly,” “Red Dick” and “Locoed Tom” (Locoed, meaning crazy) and drive down “San Pedro Canyon” to “Buzzard Flat” where the round-up will be.

  So “Bill” dashes off on his corn-fed pony for the head of “San Pedro Canyon,” a distance of twenty miles, with the other three boys right at his heels.

  You finally step in a badger hole or stub your toe against a rock and fall, throwing Mr. “Curly” against the ground with a terrible force.

  You jump up and stand trembling from the shock you received
, while your mad master takes hold of the bridle-reins and goes to abusing you for falling—not only with his tongue, but by jerking the reins, which are attached to the severe spanish bit, causing your mouth to bleed, and kicking you in the stomach with the toe of his boot.

  At last he is satisfied and mounts again, by which time the other boys are a mile or two off. Being such a common occurrence, when you fell they just glanced over their shoulders to see if “Curly” was killed or not. On seeing him jump up they knew he wasn’t badly hurt. Hence them keeping right on.

  Now you will have to do “some tall” running, under quirt and spur, to overtake the boys.

  Finally the head of “San Pedro Canyon” is reached. Everybody dismounts to “fix” their saddles—that is, move them back in place and tighten the girths. “Bill” looks at his watch and finds that an hour and ten minutes has been spent in coming the twenty miles, over a rough and rocky country. Their ponies are white with sweat, and panting like lizards.

  After surveying the surrounding country a few moments, “Bill” gives orders thusly: “Curly, you gallop over yonder,” pointing to a large bunch of cattle five miles to the west, “and run those cattle down the Canyon; and you,” talking to “Red Dick,” “go after that little bunch yonder, while me and ‘Locoed Tom’ will push everything down the Canyon.”

  “Curly” starts off by burying both spurs deep into your already bloody sides.

  When within half a mile of the cattle, they start at full speed, but in the wrong direction; hence you have got a three or four mile race, under quirt and spur, to run before they are “headed off” and turned down the Canyon.

  After getting them turned, and to give them a good “send off,” so they won’t stop running until they strike the round-up, where men will be on hand to catch and hold them, “Curly” will fire his pistol a few times.

  You are almost out of breath now, and should get time to blow awhile, but no, your cruel master, who feels good and wants exercise, after being housed up all winter, spies a coyote off in the distance and starts after it. He chases it five miles and then, after firing a few shots to scare it, starts back down the Canyon to help the other boys shove all the cattle down towards the round-up.

  About eleven o’clock, the round-up, of several thousand head, is formed and ready for the “cutting” process.

  Towards night the days’ work is finished; the round-up is turned loose and each outfit starts to their respective camp with the little herd, which will be held night and day, and which will continue to grow larger every day, until too large to conveniently handle, when it will be sent by a few men back to the range, from whence they had drifted during the winter.

  Camp is reached, and “Curly,” in his great anxiety to get to the steaming “grub” or “chuck,” which the cook has just taken from the fire, jerks the saddle off and turns you loose without washing your back—which should be done, especially in hot weather—at the same time giving you a kick with the toe of his number eight boot.

  You are by this time a pitiful looking sight as you trot off towards the “ramutha.” But the worst part of it is your back. The day has been very hot, causing the old last years’ sore to become scalded; consequently, when the saddle was jerked off, the old scab with its new growth of hair, also went, having adhered to the blanket.

  We will now drop the curtain a while, as our subject is not very pleasant to dwell upon.

  It is morning; and the sun is just peeping over yonder tree-tops, which are alive with little birds whose sweet melodious songs make the air ring with joy.

  But there is no joy nor happiness for you. It is your day to be ridden, therefore you are roped and dragged up to where “Curly’s” saddle lies. The bridle is put onto you, and then your lazy master picks up the dirty, hard, saddle blankets—which have not been washed for a month—and throws them over your raw and swollen back. Now for the saddle, which causes you to squirm and twist; and then to add to the pain, imagine a man whose weight, counting pistol, leggings and all, is one hundred and seventy-five pounds, climbing onto that saddle.

  You can now wake up, dear reader, for we know you are disgusted playing the role of a sore-backed spanish cow-pony.

  But don’t think for an instant that the majority of cow boys are the cruel-hearted wretches, such as we have pictured this man “Curly” to be. There are though, on every range a few who can discount my friend Mr. “Curly” for cruelty.

  Many a christian-hearted boy have I seen quit and throw up a paying job rather than ride one of those poor sore-backed brutes.

  There should be a law passed in the west making it a penitentiary offence for an owner, or head man of a ranch to allow, or rather compel, a man to ride one of their sore-backed ponies, especially after the sore becomes so large that the saddle won’t cover it, as is often the case.

  PART V.

  Wages paid to cow boys.—cost of a “cow-punchers” outfit, etc.

  A COW BOYS OUTFIT is somewhat like a Boston dudes’ rig, it can be bought for a small or large amount of money—according to the purchasers’ means and inclinations.

  If you wish to put on style, and at the same time have a serviceable outfit, you can invest $500.00 very handy; that is, by going or sending to Western Texas, or Old Mexico, the only places where such costly outfits are kept.

  Your saddle would cost $100.00, although the Mexicans have them as high as $300.00. Another $50.00 for a gold mounted Mexican sombraro (hat). And $100.00 for a silver mounted bridle and spurs to match. Now a $50.00 saddle-blanket to match your saddle, and another $25.00 for a quirt and “Re-etta” (raw-hide rope). Your Colt’s “45” pearl-handled gold mounted pistol would cost $50.00, a Winchester to match, $75.00; and $25.00 for a pair of Angora goat leggings, making a total of $475.00, leaving $25.00 out of the $500.00, to buy a spanish pony with.

  Years ago costly outfits were worn by nearly all Cow-men, but at this day and age they are seldom indulged in, for the simple reason that now-a-days it requires more rough and tumble hard work than skill to command good wages on a cattle ranch. Cattle are becoming so tame, from being bred up with short horns, that it requires but very little skill and knowledge to be a cow boy. I believe the day is not far distant when cow boys will be armed with prod-poles—to punch the cattle out of their way—instead of fire-arms. Messrs. Colt and Winchester will then have to go out of business, or else emigrate to “Arkansaw” and open up prod-pole factories.

  Well, now for the cost of a common outfit, with a few words of advice to the young “tenderfoot” who wishes to become a cow-boy.

  Mount a railroad train and go to any of the large shipping or “cattle towns.” Then purchase a cheap pony, for about $25.00; saddle for $25.00; leather leggings for $5.00; broad-brimmed white hat, $5.00; saddle blankets, which would do to sleep on also, $5.00. Another $5.00 bill for spurs, bridle, stake-rope, etc. And now for the most important ornament, the old reliable Colt’s “45” pistol, $12.00. If you are foolish enough to go without the latter, the cooks at the different ranches where you happen to stop will not respect you. Instead of putting the handle to your family name, they will call you the sore-footed kid, old man Nibbs, or some such names as those. We know from experience that the pistol carries much weight with it, and therefore especially advise the young ”tenderfoot“ to buy one, even if he has to ride bare-backed, from not having money enough left to buy a saddle with.

  Having your outfit all ready, the next thing to be done is, inquire the distance, north, south and west, to the nearest railroad from the town you are in. And which ever one is furthest, strike right out boldly for it. When you get about half way there, stop at the first ranch you come to, even if you have to work for your “chuck.” The idea is to get just as far from a railroad as possible.

  If you go to work for your “chuck,” while doing so, work just as hard, and if anything a little harder than if you were getting wages—and at the same time acquire all the knowledge and information possible, on the art of running cattl
e. Finally one of the Cow Boys on the ranch will quit, or get killed, and you being on hand, will get his place. Or some of the neighboring ranchmen might run short of hands, and knowing of you being out of employment will send after you.

  Your wages will be all the way from $15.00 up to $40.00 per month, according to latitude. The further north or northwest you are the higher your wages will be—although on the northern ranges your expenses are more than they would be further south, on account of requiring warmer clothing and bedding during the long and severe winters.

  After you have mastered the cow business thoroughly—that is, learned how not to dread getting into mud up to your ears, jumping your horse into a swollen stream when the water is freezing, nor running your horse at full speed, trying to stop a stampeded herd, on a dark night, when your course has to be guided by the sound of the frightened steer’s hoofs—you can command good wages, which will be from $25.00 to $60.00 per month, according to latitude as I said before.

  If you are economical, you can save money very fast on the range, for your expenses, after your outfit is purchased, are very light—in fact almost nothing, if you don’t use tobacco, gamble nor drink whiskey, when you strike a town.

  There are some cattlemen who will let you invest your wages in cattle and keep them with theirs, at so much a head—about the average cost per head, per annum, of running the whole herd, which is a small fraction over $1.00.

  PART VI.

  Average losses on a cattle ranch from deaths, theft, etc.

  THE LOSSES ON A LARGE RANCH are more than on a small one; for the simple reason that the men who own the large ones are off spending their time and money in the eastern states or across the water; depending on the hired boss whose brain is overtaxed figuring on how to successfully take time by the fore-lock and make a stake of his own, while the small owner exhausts his time, brain and energy on the range, among the old, poor cows—trying to make them pull through the winter and raise another calf.