The Rules of the Game

by Stewart Edward White

  XVI

  The sawmill lay on the direct trail to the back country. Every manheaded for the big mountains by way of Sycamore Flats passed fairlythrough the settlement itself. So every cattleman out after provisionsor stock salt, followed by his docile string of pack mules, paused toswap news and gossip with whoever happened for the moment to haveleisure for such an exchange.

  The variety poured through this funnel of the mountains comprised allclasses. Professional prospectors with their burros, ready alike for thedesert or the most inaccessible crags, were followed by a troupe ofcollege boys afoot leading one or two old mares as baggagetransportation. The business-like, semi-military outfits of geologicalsurvey parties, the worn but substantial hunters' equipments, themarvellous and oftentimes ridiculous luxury affected by the wealthycamper, the makeshifts of the poorer ranchmen of the valley, out withtheir entire families and the farm stock for a "real good fish," allthese were of never-failing interest to Bob. In fact, he soon discoveredthat the one absorbing topic--outside of bears, of course--was thediscussion, the comparison and the appraising of the various items ofcamping equipment. He also found each man amusingly partisan for hisown. There were schools advocating--heatedly--the merits respectively ofthe single or double cinch, of the Dutch oven or the reflector, ofrawhide or canvas kyacks, of sleeping bags or blankets. Each man hadinvented some little kink of his own without which he could not possiblyexist. Some of these kinks were very handy and deserved universaladoption, such as a small rubber tube with a flattened brass nozzlewith which to encourage reluctant fires. Others expressed an individualidiosyncrasy only; as in the case of the man who carried clothes hooksto screw into the trees. A man's method of packing was also closelywatched. Each had his own favourite hitch. The strong preponderanceseemed to be in favour of the Diamond, both single and double, but manyproved strongly addicted to the Lone Packer, or the Basco, or theMiners', or the Square, or even the generally despised Squaw, and wouldstoutly defend their choices, and give reasons therefore. Bob sometimesamused himself practising these hitches in miniature by means of astring, a bent nail, and two folded handkerchiefs as packs. After manytrials, and many lapses of memory, he succeeded on all but the DoubleDiamond. Although apparently he followed every move, the result wasnever that beautiful all-over tightening at the last pull. Hereluctantly concluded that on this point he must have instruction.

  Although rarely a day went by during the whole season that one or moreparties did not pass through, or camp over night at the Meadow Lake, itwas a fact that, after passing Baldy, these hundreds could scatter sofar through the labyrinth of the Sierras that in a whole summer'sjourneying they were extremely unlikely to see each other--or indeed anyone else, save when they stumbled on one of the established cow camps.The vastness of the California mountains cannot be conveyed to one whohas not travelled them. Men have all summer pastured illegally thousandsof head of sheep undiscovered, in spite of the fact that rangers andsoldiers were out looking for them. One may journey diligentlythroughout the season, and cover but one corner of the three great mapsthat depict about one-half of them. If one wills he can, to all intentsand purposes, become sole and undisputed master of kingdoms in extent.He can occupy beautiful valleys miles long, guarded by cliffs risingthousands of feet, threaded by fish-haunted streams, spangled withfair, flower-grown lawns, cool with groves of trees, neck high in richfeed. Unless by sheer chance, no one will disturb his solitude. Ofcourse he must work for his kingdom. He must press on past the easytravel, past the wide cattle country of the middle elevations, into thesplintered, frowning granite and snow, over the shoulders of the mightypeaks of the High Sierras. Nevertheless, the reward is sure for thehardy voyager.

  Most men, however, elect to spend their time in the easier middleground. There the elevations run up to nine or ten thousand feet; thetrails are fairly well defined and travelled; the streams are full offish; meadows are in every moist pocket; the great box canons and peaksof the spur ranges offer the grandeur of real mountain scenery.

  From these men, as they ended their journeys on the way out, came talesand rumours. There was no doubt whatever that the country had too manycattle in it. That was brought home to each and every man by thescarcity of horse feed on meadows where usually an abundance foreverybody was to be expected. The cattle were thin and restless. It wasunsafe to leave a camp unprotected; the half-wild animals trampledeverything into the ground. The cattlemen, of whatever camp, appearedsullen and suspicious of every comer.

  "It's mighty close to a cattle war," said one old lean and leatheryindividual to Bob; "I know, for I been thar. Used to run cows inMontana. I hear everywhar talk about Wright's cattle dyin' in mightyfunny ways. I know that's so, for I seen a slather of dead cows myself.Some of 'em fall off cliffs; some seem to have broke their legs. Somebogged down. Some look like to have just laid down and died."

  "Well, if they're weak from loss of feed, isn't that natural?" askedBob.

  "Wall," said the old cowman, "in the first place, they're pore, but theyain't by no means weak. But the strange part is that these yereaccidents always happens to Wright's cattle."

  He laughed and added:

  "The carcasses is always so chawed up by b'ar and coyote--or at leastthat's what they _say_ done it--that you can't sw'ar as to how they_did_ come to die. But I heard one funny thing. It was over at thePollock boys' camp. Shelby, Wright's straw boss, come ridin' in prettymad, and made a talk about how it's mighty cur'ous only Wright's cattleis dyin'.

  "'It shorely looks like the country is unhealthy for plains cattle,'says George Pollock; 'ours is brought up in the hills.'

  "'Well,' says Shelby, 'if I ever comes on one of these accidentsa-happenin', I'll shore make some one hard to catch!'

  "'Some one's likely one of these times to make you almighty _easy_ tocatch!' says George.

  "Now," concluded the old cattleman, "folks don't make them bluffs forthe sake of talkin' at a mark--not in this country."

  Nevertheless, in spite of that prediction, the summer passed without anypersonal clash. The cattle came out from the mountains rather earlierthan usual, gaunt, wiry, active. They were in fine shape, as far ashealth was concerned; but absolutely unfit, as they then stood, forbeef. The Simeon Wright herds were first, thousands of them, in chargeof many cowboys and dogs. The punchers were a reckless, joyous crew,skylarking in anticipation of the towns of the plains. They kissed theirhands and waved their hats at all women, old and young, in the millsettlement; they played pranks on each other; they charged here andthere on their wiry ponies, whirling to right and left, 'turning on aten-cent piece,' throwing their animals from full speed to a stand,indulging in the cowboys' spectacular 'flash riding' for the sheer joyof it. The leading cattle, eager with that strange instinct that, evenearly in the fall, calls all ruminants from good mountain feed to thebrown lower country, pressed forward, their necks outstretched, theireyes fixed on some distant vision. Their calls blended into an organnote. Occasionally they broke into a little trot. At such times the dogsran forward, yelping, to turn them back into their appointed way. At anespecially bad break to right or left one or more of the men would dashto the aid of the dogs, riding with a splendid recklessness through thetimber, over fallen trees, ditches, rocks, boulders and precipitoushills. The dust rose chokingly. At the rear of the long processionplodded the old, the infirm, the cripples and the young calves. Three orfour men rode compactly behind this rear guard, urging it to keep up.Their means of persuasion were varied. Quirts, ropes, rattles made oftin cans and pebbles, strong language were all used in turn andsimultaneously. Long after the multitude had passed, the vast andcomposite voice of it reechoed through the forest; the dust eddied andswirled among the trees.

  The mountain men's cattle, on the other hand, came out sullenly, inherds of a few hundred head. There was more barking of dogs; morescurrying to and fro of mounted men, for small bands are more difficultto drive than large ones. There were no songs, no boisterous highspirits, no flash riding. In contrast to the
plains cowboys, even theherders' appearance was poor. They wore blue jeans overalls, short jeansjumpers, hats floppy and all but disintegrated by age and exposure tothe elements. Wright's men, being nothing but cowboys, without otherprofession, ties or interests, gave more attention to details ofprofessional equipment. Their wide hats were straight of brim andgenerally encircled by a leather or hair or snakeskin band; their shirtswere loose; they wore handkerchiefs around their necks, and oiledleather "chaps" on their legs. Their distinguishing and especial mark,however, was their boots. These were made of soft leather, wereelaborately stitched or embroidered in patterns, possessed exaggeratedlywide and long straps like a spaniel's ears, and were mounted on thinsoles and very high heels. They were footwear such as no mountain man,nor indeed any man who might ever be required to go a mile afoot, wouldthink of wearing. The little herds trudged down the mountains. While theplainsmen anticipated easy duty, the pleasures of the town, fencedcattle growing fat on alfalfa raised during the summer by irrigation,these sober-faced mountaineers looked forward to a winter range muchdepleted, a market closed against such wiry, active animals as theyherded, and an impossibility of rounding into shape for sale any but afew old cows.

  "If it wasn't for this new shake-up," said Jim Pollock, "I'd shore begettin' discouraged. But if they keep out Simeon Wright's cattle thisspring, we'll be all right. It's cost us money, though."

  "A man with a wife and child can't afford to lose money," said GeorgePollock.

  Jim laughed.

  "You and your new kid!" he mocked. "No, I suppose he can't. Neither cana man with a wife and six children. But I reckon we'll be all right aslong as there's a place to crawl under when it rains."