CHAPTER XIV
FIGHTING THE ITCH
Monroe and the three men left to him after Bow-Wow had departed for TwinRiver and Wayback, in the company of Whitby, were too small a force toattempt the round-up, so they put in the day riding over those sectionsof the range farthest removed from the Hog Back, examining every cowthey found. At nightfall they had the pleasure of reporting to Buckthat the entire portion of the range along the Little Jill, extendingfrom the river to the middle of the ranch, was free from infection; as amatter of fact the conclusion reached in council was that only thatportion of range bounded by the Black Jack, the south line, andBlackfoot Creek needed to be cleaned up. This meant that two-thirds ofthe ranch was free from the itch, and the infected third contained lessthan a fourth of the Double Y cows.
Plans for the round-up were considered and soon arrived at. All the menwith the exception of three, were to be actively engaged in theround-up. They were to start from the south line and drive northwesttowards the Hog Back. The Black Jack made a natural barrier on the westand would hold the herd safely on that side. The three other puncherswere to ride even with the drive line, but on the other side ofBlackfoot Creek, and keep ambitious cows from crossing onto thenon-infected portions of the range. This arrangement would constantlyforce the cattle onto the wedge-shaped range at the juncture of the twowaters. Here the herd could be dipped and driven across the shallowBlackfoot onto a clean territory, where they would be held for furtherobservation. Then if the rest of the range showed signs of infectionthe round-up and dipping could be carried on again at other points. If astrict line could be maintained along the Blackfoot the Hog Back rangewould be fenced off effectually from the non-infected cattle on theother parts of the ranch. The question of building an actual fence toseparate the Hog Back range from the rest was gone into thoroughly andthe decision was unanimous that twelve miles of fence was too big aproposition to be attempted at that moment; if necessary it could be putup later when it was found that patrolling the creek was inadvisable.But perhaps a side light can be thrown on this quiet decision when it isremembered how fervently a cowman hated fences. These men were all ofthe old school and preferred to keep barb-wire as a theory and not afact.
That evening Bow-Wow returned with a crowd of cow-punchers of varyingdegrees of fitness, all eager to take cards in any game at fifty dollarsa month. The majority of them were not up to the standards Buckcherished; if they had been, they would not have been waiting for a job.But it was certain they knew how to punch cows, enough for the demandsof the moment--and Jake waxed eloquent and sarcastic when he hazarded aguess as to when they had eaten their last square meal. Perhaps, afterall, digging huge ditches would not be so bad, for cooking three meals aday for twenty-odd hungry men was more of a task than he cared totackle. But Bow-Wow had exercised some intelligence of his own, asafter events showed. Two of his squad were ex-cooks. The "ex" is usedadvisedly, for if ever cooks were "ex" it was these two; this was thedecision voiced simultaneously by twenty hungry men at the first mealprepared by the two. Sam Hawkins suggested that they had quit cookingto save their lives, and regretted that they had so made their choice.
The drive went ahead without more than the usual bluster and confusion,and the end of the first day found the round-up well under way.Outlying free range had been thoroughly combed, in which assistance hadbeen given by neighboring ranches; Buck, in carrying out his policy ofsupplying his own help, had not failed to notify other owners andforemen that they could rely on the Double Y for its contingent of menwhen the general round-up should take place. The drivers were dividedinto two squads for day work and three for night riding around the herd;the two-squad arrangement was made for meal times, one squad eatingwhile the other worked. There was no time lost at meals because each ofthe ex-cooks, in a chuck wagon alloted to him, preceded the drive andwas never very far from the field of operations. Thus were system andorder gained the first day, which meant time saved in the end.
Buck intended to spend his nights in the ranch house as usual, and whenhe gained it the first night he found two things of interest. The firstannounced itself by sending him to his hands and knees within three feetof his front door; the second was a telegram from McAllister saying thata special had the right of way, and from the wording Buck could see itpounding into the Northwest, over crossings and past switch towers, itscareening red tail lights bearing a warning to would-be range-jumpers ifthey did but know it. The message further stated that the consignmentwas under the personal attention of a puncher who, having grown sick ofthe stock yards, was cheerfully availing himself of the opportunity ofgetting back to the open range at no expense. Buck sighed with reliefas he realized that the ingredients of the dip were already on the way,and could not be sidetracked or lost without the subduing of a veryirritable cow-puncher. As he put the message away he remembered thefirst thing that had impressed itself on him, and went out to take alook at it.
The light in his hand revealed the sodless strip fifty feet long andfour feet wide. Its depth was to the under side of the grass, a matterof two or three inches. There was a stake at each corner of the barerectangle and these supported a one-strand fence made of lariats.
Buck scratched his head and then growled a profane request to feel thehead of the man who was responsible. He strode into the house andstopped in the kitchen door; and Jake very wearily turned around on hischair and looked at him with intent curiosity.
"What 'n h--l is that scalped grass for?" demanded Buck, evenly.
"That's th' beginnin' of ditch number one," replied Jake. "How 'd youlike them lines, eh? Straight as a die. Took me all mornin' to lay 'emout like that."
"Did it? I congratulate you, Jake--likewise I sympathize with you. Ireckon you 'll get it down a foot in a couple o' weeks, eh?"
"Oh, quicker'n that," modestly rejoined Jake.
"Did n't I tell you to dig them ditches close to where th' Blackfootempties into th' Jack?" demanded Buck. "Are you figgerin' on extendin'it from here to there? I don't want a trench no fifteen miles long.To-morrow mornin' you ride with me an' I 'll show you where to dig. An'don't you bother stakin' it off exact, neither. I want them ditches allfinished in _three_ days. Did you reckon I was goin' to drive twothousand head of itch cows fifteen miles so I could dip 'em bang up aginmy own front door!"
Pickles bounced in, his rifle under his arm. "Hullo, Buck!" he cried."Shot a coyote to-day!"
"Good, Pickles," smiled Buck. "Want a job shootin' a _man_ to-morrow?"
"Betcher life! Is it Dave?"
"No, it's Jake, here," replied Buck. "You take yore rifle an' come withme an' Jake to-morrow. If he don't dig fast enough to suit you, youshoot him in th' laig."
"Betcher life! Which leg?" asked Pickles, agog with anticipation.
"I 'm leavin' that to you, Pickles. You 're gettin' big enough tofigger things out for yoreself."
"Will he limp like Hopalong?"
"Worse, mebby."
Jake, grinning, feared Pickles might be carried away with his zeal, andhe put in a laughing objection; but he sobered instantly at Buck's sharpreply.
"I mean it. He 'll shoot if he 's a friend o' mine. I ain't goin' tolose a lot of cows 'cause I 've got a man too lazy to dig. You 've gotyore orders, Pickles: obey 'em like a real Bar-20 puncher."
"Betcher life I will. Just like Hopalong Cassidy!"
Jake groaned at the intense earnestness in Pickles' declaration; toemulate the great Hopalong Cassidy was enduring honor in Pickles' eyes,and from past performances and several duels with the boy, Jake reachedthe conclusion that he was slated to do some very rapid digging on themorrow.
"Lemme use _yore_ rifle, Buck!" asked Pickles, his eyes shining with thejoy of living. He knew he could do a great deal better with Buck'srepeater, and the thought of exploding .45-70 cartridges was a delightbeyond his wildest dreams.
Jake's heart stopped for the reply and he sighed with relie
f as Pickles'face fell; but the boy's spirits rose like a balloon. "All right, Buck;I can get him with my gun, though I ought to have a repeater."
* * * * *
The round-up went forward swiftly and the day that McAllister's specialpuffed into Wayback and snorted onto the siding, found the Hog Backcountry swept clean of cattle, the herd being held close to Jake's twobig ditches. Buck had known the magnitude of the task he set for Jakeand when the cook showed he was anxious to do his share of the work,Buck had told off men enough to help him get through in time. Thedigging was hard and unaccustomed work and the men were changedfrequently, all but Jake; he seemed to consider it a matter of pride tostick to the job and made a point of throwing the last shovelful of dirtas well as the first; as a consequence his altitude was below normal fora week afterwards, and it was a month before he forgot to grunt withevery breath.
The hauling of the lumber exercised the ingenuity and strained theresources of Jean LaFrance, the only man in the locality who possessedanything on wheels capable of carrying it. Inasmuch as he could illspare the time, although sorely needing the money, it exhausted Jean'sstock of oaths to the point where his own language failed him; evenEnglish, which he understood, seemed singularly tame and unworthy theoccasion; so that he fell back on his carefully reserved specimens ofGerman expletives, which he did not in the least understand, and thesewith constant repetitions carried him through. Two men, driving the twoborrowed chuck wagons, succeeded in transporting the rest of theshipment, and Whitby, to his great satisfaction, found that McAllisterhad not forgotten his fee.
The junction of the Blackfoot with the Jack presented a busy scene. Theclose-packed blue-clay, which had made hard work for the diggers, nowproved a help, the timbers fitting snug without backing. Meanwhile themore important part, the preparing of the solution, went on under thedirection of Whitby; his calm handling and frequent active cooeperationwithout becoming warm or soiled was a wonder to see. Under the hugecaldrons, which had been the first of the consignment to arrive, woodhad been piled ready for the match; on bases made of logs stood rows ofwhiskey barrels; shallow troughs were filled and re-filled with wateruntil the swelling wood took up and became water-tight. Far into thenight they worked, and now the crackling fires were giving the nightshift trouble with the snorting cattle. Weird shadows darted out overthe ground, lengthened and vanished as the men moved about the fires,worked over the lime-slaking troughs or poured off the compound pasteinto the steaming caldrons. When the barrels were filled with the firstlot of the mixture, Whitby relented and the men stumbled off to rest.
With the dawn they were at work again; and now the dipping troughs cameinto use as the saturated solution was drawn off from the barrels,leaving the sediment at the bottom, and dumped into the troughs, wherewater was added to reduce it to the required strength. Night wasapproaching again before the water arose to nearly the required level;the men were thoroughly tired and Whitby, reluctantly and as a result ofa direct order from Buck, called a halt. Buck knew the temper of hismen better than Whitby: at anything directly connected with rangeduties, provided they were familiar with it, they would work until theydropped; but this was something whose usefulness remained to be proven.Buck was too wise to push them in such a case, but he grinned cheerfullyas he turned away from the reluctance on Whitby's face. The Britisherwas surely a glutton for work.
The prudence of Buck's reasoning was shown by the eagerness with whichthe men responded to the call next morning. In less than an hour Whitbyannounced all ready and the men entered upon a scene which theyindividually and collectively swore repaid them for their trouble. AtWhitby's shout, two of the men riding herd cut out the first bunch ofcattle and drove them toward the dipping trough; the flimsilyconstructed horse corral swarmed with laughing, joking punchers whoroped their mounts with more or less success in the first attempt, whileoutside the wranglers darted forward and back, wheeling on a pie dish,checking the more ambitious of the ponies that resented a confinementlimited to a single line of lariats; saddles dropped onto recalcitrantbacks and were cinched with a speed nothing short of marvellous to alayman, and the whooping punchers were jerked away to the herd.
The first lot of cows, some twenty in number, flirting their tails andsnorting in angry impotence, entered the wide opening between awedge-shaped pair of fences and galloped toward the narrow vent whichled to the trough. And now was seen Buck's wisdom in continuing thefence along the edge of the troughs a few feet, both at entrance andexit: the first brute, a magnificent three-year-old, appeared to realizethe crush that would come and spurted for the opening; the significanceof the situation did not appeal to him until he was close to the edge;he slid to the very brink and gathered himself for a leap, but the fencewas too high; the next instant the cattle behind, urged on by CockMurray, whooping like an Indian, bumped into the hesitating brute and hefell forward into the trough with a bellow of rage and started on hisswim to the other end.
When Cock Murray, with Slow Jack close behind, had followed the bunchbetween the fences, they were assailed by a chorus of shouts to whichthey paid no heed whatever. Slow Jack, being in the rear, caught aglimpse out of the tail of his eye of Whitby running and waving hisarms; he looked around for the cause of so much excitement and was intime to see the second bunch, instead of being driven over to the othertrough as they should have been, come thundering into the wedge anddrive down upon him. Slow Jack shot up to the fence, threw one legalong the neck of his pony and skimmed through the opening he made for,with nothing to spare and a scratched saddle; after which he spentseveral profane seconds in telling the chaffing drivers what he thoughtof them. His annoyance was forgotten when they suddenly doubled up,shrieking with laughter, and pointed toward the shoot.
Slow Jack looked and then looked at them. The second bunch had gonegalloping madly on to the narrow opening, against which they were wedgedand dropping one by one as a third bunch pressed in after them. Theywere coming too rapidly and Ned Monroe, riding past from the othertrough, was sending the next bunch in the proper direction and going onto the herd to put some sense of order into the heads of the rollickingpunchers. Slow Jack quite failed to see anything funny in all this andsaid so with force and directness; he added, moreover, a prophecyregarding idiots, the fulfilment of which was due to take place in thenear, in fact immediate, future, which threatened complete derangementof the internal economy of said idiots. The idiots were entirelyoblivious. Jack was puzzled. He glanced ahead and noticed a lot moreidiots. Disgusted with his vain attempt to get an explanation, he rodeforward to see for himself.
Cock Murray, having quirted the last of the first bunch into the trough,became aware of the shouting, gesticulating men who had left theirduties to run toward the fence to attract his attention. In thecross-fire of warnings he failed to understand any of them, but therumbling rush behind brought him suddenly to a realization of hisposition. One glance and he saw it was too late to retreat. There wasjust one thing to do. "Holy mackerel!" gasped Cock. He put the quirtto his pony in a frenzy of blows and landed in the dipping mixture witha jump that carried his pony's feet to the bottom of the trough.Sputtering and swearing Cock went through to the end; it was useless, ashe knew, to try to climb out over those smooth abrupt walls, and he wastoo obstinate to leave his saddle. Which was madder, Cock or the pony,it would be hard to say. It was when he went climbing up the cleatedincline at the farther end that Slow Jack got his first inkling of thecause of mirth. He gave one astonished stare, made two or three oddnoises in his throat, and then, gravely and in silence, dropped from hissaddle to the ground. It was not until he lay at full length, the longreins of the bridle drooping from the bit and his pony gazing at himinquiringly, that he exploded--but then he laughed steadily for half anhour.
The cattle, which had not awaited these developments, were dropping intothe trough with praise-worthy regularity and making their way to theother end; when about half way there and swimming resignedl
y, akind-hearted puncher, wearing a delighted grin in addition to hisregular equipment, and armed with a strong pole, forked at the businessend, leaned forward swiftly, jammed the fork over the unsuspecting cow'shead, and pushed zealously. The result was gratifying to the fewon-lookers, and disconcerting to the cow so rudely ducked; just beforethe unfortunate bovine touched the sloping runway to dry earth, anothergrinning puncher repeated the dose. The cows, reluctant to enter thebath, showed no reluctance to leave it and the scene of theirhumiliation, and they lumbered away with a speed surprising to thosewhose ideas of cows are based upon observation of domesticated "bossies"in pasture in the East. But they were not allowed to run free, beingdriven slowly across a roughly constructed bridge to the farther side ofthe Blackfoot, onto the non-infected range, and held there.
"This yere trough is shore makin' some plenty of Baptists," grinnedChesty Sutton.
"Yep; but with Mormon inclinations," amended Bow-Wow.
"Bow to th' gents," reprimanded Chesty, ducking a cow. "You look like adrowned rat," he criticised.
"Bow agin," requested Bow-Wow, and the cow obeyed, with a show of fightwhen its head came up.
"Some high-falutin' picklin' factory," chuckled Chesty. "Messrs.Bow-Wow Baker an' Chesty Sutton, world's greatest mite picklers.Blue-noses, red-noses an' other kinds o' cow inhabitants a specialty.Give you a whole dollar, Bow-Wow, if you fall in."
"Is that just a plain hope, or a insinooation?" demanded the cheerfulBow-Wow. "I sleep next to you, so don't get too blamed personal. Butwe might put Jake in--though mebby his ain't th' right kind. Hey, Jake;come here."
"If you wants to see me, you come here," retorted the cook. "I 've seenall of them ditches _I_ wants to. An' I ain't takin' no chances with acouple o' fools, neither."
"Hey, Chesty!" called Bow-Wow, delighted. "Here comes that LX steer wehad such a h--l of a time with in th' railroad pens. Soak him good!Ah, ha, my long-horned friend; you was some touchy an' peevish downthere in Wayback. Take _that_--don't worry, Chesty 's been savin' somefor you, too. _Hard_, Chesty! That's th' boy--bet he 's mad as arattler."
"Look at that moth-eaten scab of a yearlin'," laughed Chesty, pointing."Th' firm could declare dividends on th' mites we 'll pickle on her._Souse_ she goes! Once more for luck--look at her steam up! H--l,_this_ ain't work--it's fun. Under you go, Alice dear. Next!"
"Here comes Kinkaid o' th' Cyclone," announced Cock Murray, riding up totake a hasty look at the operations before he returned to the herd foranother bunch of cows.
Chesty handed his pole to Murray, grabbed up a lariat, and started forthe newcomer, shouting: "Here comes some itch! Dip him, fellers!Quick!"
Kinkaid manoeuvred swiftly, grinning broadly. "If that stuff is warmer'n th' water in th' Jack, why, I might be coaxed into it. Howd'y, boys;thought I 'd come over an' pick up some points."
"How you makin' out on th' Cyclone?" asked Buck.
"Bad--_very_ bad. We tried isolatin' th' mangy ones, but they 're dyin'like flies in frost time. Lost forty million so far an' I reckon th'other two 'll die to-morrow. We thought our north range was free, butthey 're on that, too. We drove clean cows up in th' Rockin' Horseterritory an' now they 're showin' signs o' havin' th' itch. Beats allhow it travels."
Cock Murray listened intently, but held his peace. He thought he mightexplain how it had travelled toward the Rocking Horse.
"That's where we noticed it first," said Buck. "We found some o' yorecows on th' Hog Back, an' their trail left th' river just below th'Rockin' Horse."
Kinkaid looked surprised and asked questions. He sat very quietly for afew moments and then looked at Buck with a peculiar expression on hisface. "Sick cows don't swim th' Jack, cold as it is now. I wonder whoin h--l--?" he muttered, softly.
"We 're wonderin', too, Kinkaid," replied Buck, slowly. "It's lead orrope for anybody we ketch at it." Kinkaid nodded his emphaticendorsement of this.
Whitby was keeping a close watch on the tally of cattle as they emerged,comparing it with the amount of fresh mixture constantly being added tothat already in the troughs, and he found reason to be thankful that hehad ordered more than he expected to use. Any left over would make allthe less needed at the fall shipment when, as he knew, the dipping wouldhave to be repeated; not until then could they be assured that thedisease was stamped out.
The first day's work finished less than half the herd, but theycontinued, the following day, until the last cow scrambled out. Afterwhich, as a matter of precaution, Buck gave the boys the fun of drivingevery pony through the mixture. What had been entertaining before nowbecame side-splitting, for tired as they were, the savage natures of thefurious victims drew energy from unexpected sources and made a scenewell worth watching, and a little risky for those men waiting with ropesat the end of the dripping board. The cows were angry, but had neitherthe intelligence nor the fighting ability of the maddened animals whohad only a short time before seemed to enjoy the discomfiture of theanimals they were accustomed to drive and bully; and it was only agilityand good luck that the flying hoofs landed on nothing more substantialthan air.
While this did not take long it was too late when finished, and the mentoo weary, to break camp; but the next morning saw the chuck wagon piledhigh with barrels and caldrons on the way to the ranch house. Some ofthe extra men, having in mind the wording of the guarantee of a fullmonth's pay, cherished the hope that there was no further use for theirservices and that they would be paid off and told to leave. They weredisappointed, for instead of loafing or leaving, half of them were setto planting posts for the fence which it was found necessary to erectalong the creek, while the others rode over the range on the look-outfor cows with signs of itch. A small herd of about a hundred, foundscattered along and near the creek, were dipped as a precautionarymeasure, and after a week had elapsed without finding further signs ofthe disease, Buck ordered the second squad to begin the Spring or calfround-up; the fence division patrolled the creek to effect a quarantineuntil the wire arrived. They had a two-strand fence extending alongBlackfoot Creek from its source to the river, when the round-up was halfover, and were immediately put to work with the others. When the lastcalf was branded, the extra force was let go and Buck waited for somenew deviltry. It came, and turned his hair grayer and deepened the linesof care on his face. Calves had totalled up well and proved to him thatthere was lots of money to be taken out of the Double Y under fairconditions, but the next blow cut into his resources with crushingeffect and made him waver for a moment.
Buck Peters, Ranchman Page 14
