by Zane Grey
“Aw, you’re just as locoed as any of us.”
Whereupon they fell into a great argument about the number of horses; and though Pan had little part in it he gradually conceived an idea that he had underestimated them.
“Say, fellows,” he said, breaking up the discussion, “if Hardman’s gang raises a row in Marco we’ll know tomorrow.”
“Shore, but I tell you they won’t,” returned Blinky doggedly.
“We’ll look for trouble anyway. And meanwhile we’ll go right on with our job. That’ll be roping and hobbling the horses we want to keep. We’ll turn them loose here, or build another corral. Hey, Blink?—How about a string for your ranch in Arizona?”
“Whoopee!” yelled the cowboy. Pan had heard Blinky yell that way before. He clapped his hands over his ears, for no more mighty pealing human sound than Blinky’s famous yell ever rose to the skies. When Pan took his hands away from his cars he caught the clapping echoes, ringing, prolonged, back from bluff to slope, winding away, to mellow, to soften, to die in beautiful concatenation far up in the wild breaks of the hills.
Pan lay awake in his blankets. He had retired early leaving his companions continuing their arguments, their conjectures and speculations. The campfire flared up and died down, according to the addition of new fuel. The light flickered on the trees in fantastic and weird shadows. At length there was only a dull red glow left, and quiet reigned. The men had sought their beds.
Then the solemn wilderness shut down on Pan, with the loneliness and solitude and silence that he loved. But this night there were burdens. He could not sleep. He could not keep his eyes shut. What question shone down in the pitiless stars? Something strange and inscrutable weighed upon him. Was it a regurgitation of his early moods, when first he became victim to the wildness of the ranges? Was it new-born conscience, stirred by his return to his mother, by his love for Lucy? He seemed to be haunted. Reason told him that it was well he had come to fight for his father. He could not be blamed for the machinations of evil men. He suffered no regret, no remorse. Yet there was something that he could not understand. It was a physical sensation that gave him a chill creeping of his flesh. It was also a spiritual shrinking, a withdrawing from what he knew not. He had to succumb to a power of the unseen.
Other times he had felt the encroachment of this insidious thing, but vague and raw. Whisky had been a cure. Temptation was now strong upon him to seek his companions and dull his faculties with strong drink. But he could not yield to that. Not now, with Lucy’s face like a wraith floating in the starlight! He was conscious of a larger growth. He had accepted responsibilities that long ago he should have taken up. He now dreamed of love, home, children. Yet beautiful as was that dream it could not be realized in these days without the deadly spirit and violence to which he had just answered. That was the bitter anomaly.
Next morning, in the sweet cedar-tanged air and the rosy-gold of the sunrise, Pan was himself again, keen for the day.
“Pard, you get first pick of the wild hosses,” announced Blinky.
“No, we’ll share even,” declared Pan.
“Say, boy, reckon we’d not had any hosses this mawnin’ but fer you,” rejoined his comrade. “An’ some of us might not hev been so lively an’ full of joy. Look at your dad! Shore you’d never think thet yestiddy he had his haid broke an’ his heart, too. Now just would you?”
“Well, Blink, now you call my attention to it, Dad does look quite chipper,” observed Pan calmly. But he felt a deep gladness for this fact he so lightly mentioned.
Blinky bent to his ear: “Pard, it was the money thet perked him up,” whispered the cowboy.
Pan reflected that his father’s loss and continued poverty had certainly weakened him, dragged him down.
“Listen, Blink,” said Pan earnestly. “I don’t want to be a kill-joy. Things do look wonderful for us. But I haven’t dared yet to let myself go. You’re a happy-go-lucky devil and Dad is past the age of fight. It won’t stay before his mind. But I feel fight. And I can’t be gay because something tells me the fight isn’t over.”
“Wal, pard,” drawled Blinky, with his rare grin, “the way I feel aboot fight is thet I ain’t worryin’ none if you’re around.… All the same, old pard, I’ll take your hunch, an’ you can bet your life I’ll be watchin’ like a hawk till we shake the dirty dust of Marco.”
“Good, Blinky, that will help me. We’ll both keep our eyes open today so we can’t be surprised by anybody.”
Pan’s father approached briskly, his face shining. He was indeed a different man. “Boys, are we goin’ to loaf round camp all day?”
“No, Dad, we’re going to rope the best of the broomtails. I’ll get a chance to see you sling a lasso.”
“Say, I’d tackle it at that,” laughed his father.
“Blinky, trapping these wild horses and handling them are two different things,” remarked Pan thoughtfully. “Reckon I’ll have to pass the buck to you.”
“Wal, pard, I’m shore there. We’ll chase all the hosses into the big corral. Then we’ll pick out one at a time, an’ if we cain’t rope him without scarin’ the bunch too bad we’ll chase him into the small corral.”
“Ah-uh! All right. But I’ll miss my guess if we don’t have a hot dusty old time,” replied Pan.
“Fellars,” called Blinky, “come ararin’ now, an’ don’t any of you fergit your guns.”
“How about hobbles?” inquired Pan.
“I’ve got a lot of soft rope, an’ some burlap strips.”
Gus and Brown brought in the saddle horses, and soon the men were riding down to the corrals. This was a most satisfactory incident for all concerned, and there were none not keen and excited to see the wild horses, to pick and choose, and begin the day’s work.
Upon their entrance to the first and smaller corral a string of lean, ragged, wild-eyed mustangs trooped with a clattering roar back into the larger corral.
“Wal, boys, the show begins,” drawled Blinky. “Mr. Smith, you an’ Charley take your stands by the gate, to open it when you see us comin’ with a broomie we want to rope. An’ Pan, you an’ me an’ Gus will ride around easy like, not pushin’ the herd at all. They’ll scatter an’ mill around till they’re tired. Then they’ll bunch. When we see one we want we’ll cut him out, an’ shore rope him if we get close enough. But I reckon it’d be better to drive the one we want into the small corral, rope an’ hobble him, an’ turn him out into the pasture.”
The larger corral was not by any means round or level, and it was so big that the mass of horses in a far corner did not appear to cover a hundredth part of the whole space. There were horses all over the corral, along the fences especially, but the main bunch were as far away as they could get from their captors, and all faced forward, wild and expectant.
It was a magnificent sight. Whether or not there was much fine stock among them or even any, the fact remained that hundreds of wild horses together in one drove, captive and knowing it, were collected in this great trap. The intense vitality of them, the vivid coloring, the beautiful action of many and the statuesque immobility of the majority, were thrilling and all satisfying to the hearts of the captors.
Pan and Blinky and Gus spread out to trot their mounts across the intervening space. The wild horses moved away along the fence, and halted to face about again. They let the riders approach to a hundred yards, then, with a trampling roar, they burst into action. Wild pointed noses, ears, heads, manes and flying hoofs and tails seemed to spread from a dark compact mass.
They ran to the other side of the corral, where the horsemen leisurely followed them. Again they broke into mighty concerted action and into thunder of hoofs. They performed this maneuver several times before the riders succeeded in scattering them all over the pasture. Then with wild horses running, trotting, walking, standing everywhere it was easy to distinguish one from another.
“Regular lot of broomtails,” yelled Blinky to Pan. “Ain’t seen any yet I’d give two bits f
er. Reckon, as always, the good hosses got away.”
But Pan inclined to the opinion that among so many there were surely a few fine animals. And so it proved. Pan’s first choice was a blue roan, a rare combination of color, build and speed. The horse was a mare and had a good head. She had a brand on her left flank. Pan rode around after her, here, there, all over the field, but without help he could not turn her where he wished.
He had to watch her closely to keep from losing sight of her among so many moving horses, and he expected any moment that the boys would come to his assistance. But they did not. Whereupon Pan faced about, just in time to see a wonderful-looking animal shoot through the open gate into the smaller corral. Blinky and Gus rode after him.
The gate was closed, and then began a chase round the corral. The wild horse was at a disadvantage. He could not break through the fence or leap over it, and presently two lassoes caught him at once, one round his neck, the other his feet. As he went down, Pan heard the piercing shriek. The two cowboys were out of their saddles in a twinkling, and while Gus held the horse down Blinky hobbled his front feet. Then they let him get up. Charley Brown ran to open another gate, that led out into the unfenced pasture. This animal was a big chestnut, with tawny mane. He leaped prodigiously, though fettered by the hobbles. Then he plunged and fell and rolled over. He got up to try again. He was savage, grotesque, awkward. The boys drove him through the gate.
“Whoopee!” pealed out Blinky’s yell.
“Reckon those boys know their business,” soliloquized Pan, and then he yelled for them to come and help him.
It took some time for Pan to find his roan, but when he espied her, and pointed her out to Blinky and Gus the chase began. It was a leisurely performance. Pan did not run Sorrel once. They headed the roan off, hedged her in a triangle, cut her out from the other horses, and toward the open gate. When the mare saw this avenue of escape she bolted through it.
Pan, being the farthest from the gate, was the last to follow. And when he rode in, to head off the furiously running roan, Gus made a beautiful throw with his lasso, a whirling wide loop that seemed to shoot perpendicularly across in front of her. She ran into it, and the violent check brought her down. Blinky was almost waiting to kneel on her head. And Gus, leaping off, hobbled her front feet. Snorting wildly she got up and tried to leap. But she only fell. The boys roped her again and dragged her out into the pasture.
“Aw, I don’t know,” sang Blinky, happily. “Two horses in two minutes! We ain’t so bad, fer cowboys out of a job.”
Warming to the work they went back among the circling animals. But it was an hour before they cut out the next choice, a dark bay horse, inconspicuous among so many, but one that proved on close inspection to be the best yet. Gus had the credit of first espying this one.
After that the picked horses came faster, until by noon they had ten hobbled in the open pasture. Two of these were Pan’s. He had been hard to please.
“Wal, we’ll rest the hosses an’ go get some chuck,” suggested Blinky.
Early afternoon found them again hard at their task. The wild horses had not only grown tired from trooping around the corral, but also somewhat used to the riders. That made choosing and driving and cutting out considerably easier. Pan helped the boys with their choices, but he had bad luck with his own. He had espied several beautiful horses only to lose them in the throng of moving beasts. Sometimes, among a large bunch of galloping horses, the dust made vision difficult. But at length, more by good luck than management, Pan found one of those he wanted badly. It was a black stallion, medium size, with white face, and splendid proportions. Then he had to chase him, and do some hard riding to keep track of him. No doubt about his speed! Without heading him off or tricking him, not one of the riders could stay near him.
“Aw, I’m sick eatin’ his dust,” shouted Blinky, savagely.
Whereupon both Pan and Gus, inspired by Blinky, cut loose in dead earnest. They drove him, they relayed him, they cornered him, and then as he bolted to get between Gus and Pan, Blinky wheeled his horse and by a mighty effort headed him with a lasso. That time both wild stallion and lassoer bit the dust. Gus was on the spot in a twinkling, and as the animal heaved to his feet, it was only to fall into another loop. Then the relentless cowboys stretched him out and hobbled him.
“Heah, now, you fire-eyed—air-pawin’ hoss—go an’ get gentle,” panted Blinky.
By the time the hunters had caught three others, which achievement was more a matter of patience than violence, the herd had become pretty well wearied and tamed. They crowded into a mass and moved in a mass. It took some clever riding at considerable risk to spread them. Fine horses were few and far between.
“Let’s call it off,” shouted Pan. “I’m satisfied if you are.”
“Aw, just one more, pard,” implored Blinky. “I’ve had my eye on a little bay mare with four white feet. She’s got a V bar brand, and she’s not so wild.”
They had to break up the bunch a dozen times before they could locate the horse Blinky desired. And when Pan espied the bay he did not blame Blinky, and from that moment, as the chase went on, he grew more and more covetous. What a horse for Lucy! Pan had been satisfied with the blue roan for her but after he saw the little bay he changed his mind.
The little animal was cunning. She relied more on crowding in among the other horses than in running free, and therefore she was hard to get out into the open. Blinky’s mount went lame; Gus’s grew so weary that he could not keep up; but Pan’s Sorrel showed wonderful powers of endurance. In fact he got better all the time. It began to dawn upon Pan what a treasure he had in Sorrel.
“Aw, let the darn little smart filly go,” exclaimed Blinky, giving up in disgust. “I never wanted her nohow.”
“Cowboy, she’s been my horse ever since you showed her to me,” replied Pan. “But you didn’t know it.”
“Wal, you hoss-stealin’ son-of-a-gun!” ejaculated Blinky with pleasure. “If you want her, we shore will run her legs off.”
In the end they got Little Bay—as Pan had already named her—into the roping corral, along with two other horses that ran in with her. And there Pan chased her into a corner and threw a noose round her neck. She reared and snorted, but did not bolt.
“Hey, pard,” called Blinky, who was close behind. “Shore as you’re born she knows what a rope is. See! She ain’t fightin’ it. I’ll bet you my shirt she’s not been loose long. Thet bar V brand now. New outfit on me. Get off an’ haul up to her.”
Pan did not need a second suggestion. He was enraptured with the beauty of the little bay. She was glossy in spite of long hair and dust and sweat. Her nostrils were distended, her eyes wild, but she did not impress Pan as being ready to kill him. He took time. He talked to her. With infinite patience he closed up on her, inch by inch. And at last he got a hand on her neck. She flinched, she appeared about to plunge, but Pan’s gentle hand, his soothing voice kept her still. The brand on her flank was old. Pan had no way to guess how long she had been free, but he concluded not a great while, because she was not wild. He loosened the noose of his lasso on her neck. It required more patience and dexterity to hobble her.
“Pard, this little bay is fer your gurl, huh?” queried Blinky, leaning in his saddle.
“You guessed right, Blink,” answered Pan. “Little Bay! that’s her name.”
“Wal, now you got thet off your chest s’pose you climb on your hoss an’ look heah,” added Blinky.
The tone of his voice, the way he pointed over the cedar fence to the slope, caused Pan to leap into his saddle. In a moment his sweeping gaze caught horsemen and pack animals zigzagging down the trail.
“If it’s Hardman’s outfit, by Gawd, they’re comin’ back with nerve,” said Blinky. “But I never figgered they’d come.”
Pan cursed under his breath. How maddening to have his happy thoughts so rudely broken! In a flash he was hard and stern.
“Ride, Blink,” he replied briefly.
&
nbsp; They called the others and hurriedly got out of the corral into the open.
“Reckon camp’s the best place to meet thet outfit, if they’re goin’ to meet us,” declared Blinky.
Pan’s father exploded in amazed fury.
“Cool off, Dad,” advised Pan. “No good to cuss. We’re in for something. And whatever it is, let’s be ready.”
They made their way back to camp with eyes ever on the zigzag trail where in openings among the cedars the horsemen could occasionally be seen.
“Looks like a long string,” muttered Pan.
“Shore, but they’re stretched out,” added Gus. “’Pears to me if they meant bad for us they wouldn’t come pilin’ right down thet way.”
“Depends on how many in the outfit and what they know,” said Pan. “Hardman’s men sure knew we weren’t well heeled for a shooting scrape.”
“Pard, are you goin’ to let them ride right into camp?” queried Blinky, hard faced and keen.
“I guess not,” replied Pan bluntly. “Rifle shot is near enough. They might pretend to be friendly till they got to us. But we’ll sure fool them.”
Not much more was spoken until the approaching horsemen emerged from the cedars at the foot of the slope. They rode straight toward the camp.
“How many?” asked Pan. “I count six riders.”
“Seven fer me, an’ aboot as many pack horses.… Wal, I’ll be damned! Thet’s all of them.”
“Mebbe there’s a bunch up on the slope,” suggested Charley Brown.
After a long interval fraught with anxiety and suspense, during which the horsemen approached steadily, growing more distinct, Blinky suddenly burst out: “Fellars, shore as you’re born it’s Wiggate.”
“The horse dealer from St. Louis!” ejaculated Pan in tremendous relief. “Blink, I believe you’re right. I never saw one of those men before, or the horses either.”
“It’s Wiggate, son,” corroborated Pan’s father. “I met him once. He’s a broad heavy man with a thin gray chin beard. That’s him.”
