“Why do they all make such fools of themselves?” Pecos Bill asked. “Why don’t they invent some way of marking their horses and cattle so that they will know them wherever they happen to meet them? All this fighting and killing is sheer nonsense. The spirit of the Coyote pack is entirely lacking.”
While Pecos Bill was trying to invent a plan for marking the animals, a deerfly gave him just the right suggestion when it nipped him sharply on the arm. In chasing the fly away, he just naturally happened to notice the tattooed star that was his own mark of identification. “Mother was wiser than all these cowmen put together,” Pecos declared, laughing at himself for having been so slow in finding the right idea! “Why of course cattle and horses can be tattooed the same way. Then they’ll be marked for life.”
That very evening Pecos Bill explained his plans to Bean Hole. The cook listened, then shook his head. “But tattooin’ is too infernal slow,” declared Bean Hole, looking at the purple markings up and down the backs of his own arms. “It wasted more’n a whole week of my time to do these pictures. It’d be quicker to burn the mark on. I ain’t been cookin’ all these years for nothin’. I know that if you burn the skin deep enough, it’ll leave an everlastin’ scar. Look at this mark now—I’ve been carryin’ it on my wrist for more’n twenty-seven years, and it’s just as plain now as ever it was.”
“You’re right,” shouted Pecos. “Together we’ve invented a new system of bookkeeping for every cowhand in the world.”
That evening Pecos explained the new invention to the cowboys, who were open-mouthed at the cleverness of the plan. Rusty Peters, who was a blacksmith by trade, was set immediately to make the brands. He bent the iron so that it would read I X L when burnt upon the side of a horse or a cow.
The next morning all the men were as excited as boys. They herded and roped the cattle, dragging them near the heated irons and throwing them on their side to apply the stinging brand. All day long the smoke curled. All day long the cattle bellowed.
“Keep that iron a cherry red, I’m a-tellin’ you,” shouted Bean Hole, as he gave directions. “Hold it on long enough to do more’n singe the hair. Wait till it smells like the Devil’s own stithy, and looks like the whole critter was burned to a cracklin’. That’s not near long enough. She’ll shed that mark before the snow flies. There, that’s about right. Let her bawl her fill. The loss of a few mouthfuls of hot air ain’t going to hurt her any.”
“Keep quiet, you old bag o’ wind,” shouted Rusty Peters, hard at work. “I ain’t a blacksmith for nothin’! I’ll burn a brand across your mouth in a minute if you don’t keep quiet.”
By evening the entire job was completed. It was found that the I. X. L. outfit possessed fifty-seven steers of various ages, forty-one cows, some fat and sleek, some spindly and thin, and twenty-four calves.
“This small herd ain’t really enough to bother with,” Pecos Bill observed in disappointment. “I thought you cowmen said you had a real ranch. Why, the woods are full of wild cattle that belong to nobody in particular. I’ll just go out and drive in a few thousand of them. We’ll put our trademark on them, and then they’ll be ours.”
“But how in tarnation will we ever keep these longhorns from runnin’ straight away again?” asked Gun Smith with doubting stare. “What’s the use of goin’ through all this trouble disfigurin’ the sides of all these cattle with our silly I. X. L. advertisement, if we’re goin’ to turn ’em back to the wild prairies again?”
Pecos Bill had not thought of this. The general custom among the cowmen had been to allow all the cattle to go and come whenever they liked. The ranch shack was nearly always built beside running water, and naturally, a few of the timid and lazy cows and steers would make this their home. The more ambitious stock would just as naturally wander off across the prairies and mesa and take refuge within the mesquite woods. Soon they would be as wild as deer and as difficult to catch.
This careless way of doing things meant that each ranch had a mere handful of shifting population, as far as the cattle were concerned. When the pasture and the water elsewhere were scarce, the cattle would flock to the ranch, but most of the time they would not even trouble themselves to take a French leave.
“It’s dead wrong,” said Pecos Bill to himself as he squatted on his haunches. “The problem to be solved is this: how are the cattle to be kept together in a herd after they are branded?”
While he was trying to work out the answer, he loped off alone to the top of a small mountain one morning before the others were awake. Far over the rolling prairies he could see many small wandering herds of cows and steers.
“Of course, if bad should come to worse, I could just round the herd up every night and throw my noose about them, and tie the cattle up till morning,” he smiled. “But that ain’t a good solution, for I can’t bind myself that close to the ranch. I’ve got to reserve my energy for bigger work. All kinds of things are waiting to be invented.”
At first as he sat and thought, his mind was just one grazing herd after another. He saw cattle scattered all over the prairies, he saw cattle stampede, and he saw cattle leaving the herd to get lost in the wild mesa. But after a little, things cleared up and he knew what he was going to do.
He got up, stretched the kinks out of his muscles and started at a brisk gallop for the ranch house. As soon as he arrived, he called out for everybody to come.
“Here’s the plan,” he said excitedly. “The way to keep the herd together is for you men to ride out with the cattle every day. By waking up the drags and by holding back the leaders, the herd can be kept together and can be made to go to the best feeding grounds every day.”
“You mean,” said Gun Smith, with an ironical smile, “that us cowpunchers has got to be ordinary bovine critters the rest of our lives?”
“And stay with the herd all night and sleep with the hoot owl?” asked Moon Hennessey sourly.
“Oh, yes,” and the musical Mushmouth sang with a pretense of tears in his voice:
“The centipede runs ’cross my head,
The vinegaroon crawls in my bed,
Tarantulas jump and scorpions play,
The broncs are grazin’ far away,
The rattlesnake sounds his noisy cry,
And the Coyotes sing their lullaby,
While I sleep soundly beneath the sky.”
“It don’t appeal to me,” complained Moon Hennessey.
“Oh, well, you’ll be just crazy about it when you’ve tried it—especially if the herd stampedes in your direction,” suggested Gun Smith with irony. “It’s goin’ to be a regular picnic, Sundays and weekdays together, an’ there’s no doubt about it.”
“And if the herd gets stampeded, you’ll be on hand to turn the leaders and start them milling until they are bitterly disappointed in trying to run away,” added Pecos Bill quietly. “Besides, sleeping out under the stars is wonderful, once you’ve acquired the knack. I know from long experience.”
“It’ll all be easier than handlin’ a month-old heifer calf,” laughed Gun Smith bitterly.
“Well, now that we have decided what to do, I’ll go out and drive in the cattle to be branded. And while I’m away Gun Smith will be your foreman. He’ll keep you out of mischief. We can’t get started too soon. So, with your permission, I’ll be going right away. I’ll have a herd ready to be branded first thing in the morning.”
As soon as Pecos Bill had darted out into the night, the men began to wonder whether his coming to them had been a blessing or a curse.
“Chuck, before this monstrosity of yours arrived,” began Moon Hennessey, “we was leadin’ a peaceful and easy life. All we was expected to do was swap lies and eat juicy tobacco. Now, it seems, we’re goin’ to be set at hard labor!”
“To my way of thinkin’, the change will be all to the good,” answered Chuck. “And who knows—it may bring us glory and honor—and gold!”
“Well, then, since I’m the appointed foreman of this outfit until Pecos r
eturns,” Gun Smith drawled as he put his hands on his guns, “I’m goin’ to give you, Chuck, the place of highest honor. While the rest of us turn in for the night, you, Chuck, will take your Old Pepper and make contact with our branded herd. If they object to your presence and attempt to trample you and your noble steed to smithereens by startin’ a wild stampede, you’ll simply turn the leaders and set the herd millin’. If they show signs of thirst, you will lead them beside the still water!”
“Thank you very much for the honor,” answered Chuck, as he rose promptly to carry out the assigned task.
“The rest of us motherless mavericks,” Gun Smith continued, “will remain here, so’s to be on hand with the ropes and the brandin’ irons when Old Pecos returns any minute with his promised herd of wild cattle.”
“Well,” added Moon Hennessey with a bored yawn, “Old Pecos will be doin’ splendid if he shows up by the end of next week. There’ll be no herd here tomorrow mornin’, I can promise you that.”
“Don’t fool yourself,” replied Chuck spiritedly as he turned on his heel. “You evidently ain’t yet acquainted with my brother.”
“Brother!” fairly hissed Moon Hennessey in a rage. “Cut out your star identification talk and go on about your business!”
Next morning the men were awakened at early dawn by the dull thud, thud, thud of innumerable hoofs and by the monotonous bawling of the weary cattle. As the men rubbed the sleep out of their eyes and looked about, they discovered, to their astonishment, that Pecos Bill had actually returned with a herd so large that they couldn’t begin to see either its beginning or end.
“What, aren’t you boys up yet?” Pecos called with a smile. “I’ve been having a wonderful night. And I’ve got enough cattle here to keep all of us busy for a while, anyway.”
“Enough wild critters to keep the brandin’ irons sizzlin’ and the smoke risin’ for a month of Sundays, I’d say,” conceded Gun Smith, none too happily.
But Pecos Bill had no use for conversation just then. Breakfast was gulped down, cattle struggling and bellowing, the alkali dust flying mountain high, Bean Hole rushing about like a chicken with its head off, shouting his directions amid the din and waving his kettles and pans, and Rusty Peters keeping the smoking brands busy. This was the way it went all day long. By the time the sun had set, the tired men had added three hundred and thirty-eight cattle to their herd. Three hundred and thirty-eight—hurrah for Pecos Bill!
Pecos Bill himself was so happy over the results that frequently during the following months he would go out for an evening adventure, returning promptly the following morning with hundreds more bawling wild cattle. By the end of the season, the I. X. L. Ranch was one living sea of four-footed beasts.
As soon as his men had finished branding the incoming herd with the I. X. L. trademark, Pecos Bill at once began looking around to find other worlds to conquer. He instructed the men how to live in the saddle and how to take catnaps astride their grazing ponies. He showed them how to soothe the cattle by crooning songs to them and how to keep the herd together without annoying even the leaders.
When the herd stampeded, as it was sure to do at times, Pecos taught the men how to turn the leaders, and thus start the entire herd milling in a circle until the cattle finally winded themselves, and stopped through sheer weariness in the very spot from which they had started in the first place.
During these days, Bean Hole was the busiest man this side of Mars. After trying for a week to feed the men by carrying food out to them from the ranch shack, he finally gave up. On four or five different occasions, as he was starting out with his kettles and pans, he actually met himself on the trail coming back with the empty dishes of the previous afternoon. If he hadn’t stopped his foolishness of trying to work twenty-seven hours a day just when he did, most likely his ghost would still be wandering on the wind over the same trails.
In the despair of complete exhaustion, Bean Hole finally hitched two spans of mules to the chuck wagon, loaded it down with enough food to last a fortnight, and left the ranch shack to take care of itself. He hadn’t been gone half an hour before the place looked as deserted as the ruins of Pompeii.
Very soon the entire life of the ranch was going along according to the new plan. Everything was clicking like clockwork and Pecos Bill was so pleased, for the present at least, that he couldn’t think of anything left to invent. So he decided to go out and tell the world about what he had been doing, not for the sake of his own fame, but for the benefit of the cowmen of the entire range country.
One evening, after the cattle had settled down for the first sleep of the night, Pecos Bill announced to Gun Smith, his foreman, that it would be necessary for him to go away from the ranch for a few days. “If anybody asks where I am,” he whispered, “just tell them that I’ll be back for breakfast, like as not.”
Pecos then took his boots under his arm, threw his coiled rope over his shoulder, and went bounding off across the rolling prairie. When he came to a strange ranch, he would quickly put on his boots and walk in great dignity, with jangling spurs, up to the boss of the outfit. Very soon he would be telling the wide-eyed cowman his story. In this way he easily covered forty or fifty miles in an hour and a half or two hours.
Pecos Bill thus visited all the ranches of the entire Southwest within two or three months. Not forgetting a single detail, he told the men everywhere what he had done. At first they thought him the biggest liar that had ever been invented in the whole world of cowmen. But when he had limbered up his lariat, and when they had witnessed his performance, they were quite willing to believe everything he told them.
What they saw was even more wonderful than what he had said. For with perfect ease, he would lasso any animal within reach of their vision. He could lasso a grazing or galloping steer, or lay his flying noose around the neck of a bald eagle in full flight.
The flying visits led later to many heated disputes among the puzzled ranchers: “You say this Pecos Bill left Hub’s Ferry at nine o’clock? But he was at Slippery Mike’s by eleven, and that’s a good forty miles as the crow flies, ain’t it? And he was alone and on foot, wasn’t he? Who is this Pecos Bill, anyway?” Every rancher seemed to have a bigger yarn to tell than his neighbor.
But they were all true—certainly! And through the efforts of Pecos Bill, ranchmen began to have a spring roundup and fall roundup. Pecos persuaded the ranchers of a given range section or river valley to drive together all the cattle of their entire district. They then sorted them into individual herds according to the particular brand of each owner. After this work was completed, each owner branded all of his calves. The strays, with no brand, and the orphan mavericks were then distributed equally and branded so that they could never again go astray. And every bit of the plan was Pecos Bill’s.
In the fall the roundup was repeated so that the stray cattle could be located and given back to their rightful owners. After all the exchanges were made, the cowmen, as they took their herds back to their individual feeding grounds, found it easy to count the number of steers that were in condition for the market and the number that they would have to pasture during the coming winter.
Thus it was that each owner was given what belonged to him, according to the laws of reason, and not in accordance with the earlier outlawry of the pistol.
And so it came about very naturally, through the organization of all the scattered cowmen, that the fame of Pecos Bill rapidly spread to the four corners of the range country. From the valley of the Rio Grande, through Texas and New Mexico, Arizona and Colorado, Kansas and Nebraska, and far into the wilderness of Montana and Wyoming, cowboys, when they met, would carelessly throw one foot free from its stirrup and in a resting position shout to their nearest companion: “Say, have you heard about the rope Uncle Bill is still braidin’ down on the Pecos? Why, it’s already twice as long as the equator! You know, if Old Pecos Bill could only get a toehold on the moon, he’d turn in and lasso this wanderin’ planet of ours and bring it back
into the Milky Way, where it belongs! Yes, and Pecos could do it easier than you or I could lasso a year-old heifer calf!”
CHAPTER 6
PECOS BILL TEACHES THE COWBOYS TO PLAY
As Pecos Bill thought over what he had already done, he saw that his work was not wasted. “The cowmen are beginning to learn to work together,” he said to himself, “and that’s very fine. What they now need most of all is to learn to play together. A little fun never hurts. Besides, the Coyotes long ago taught me that it’s play that develops the spirit of the pack!”
And thus it came about that Pecos Bill began to invent games for the cowpunchers. “I don’t want them to be too easy,” Pecos explained to Gun Smith. “And I want them to bring out everything the men have got in them. Let me see…”
It was at the beginning of the next fall roundup that Pecos Bill showed all the assembled cowmen and their cowhands what he meant. The fact is, he gave the first genuine exhibition of cowboy horsemanship and roping in the history of the world and the cattle country.
Sharing the secret with no one but Gun Smith, Pecos had for several months trained with various wild broncos, especially roped for the purpose. When the time arrived for the play to begin, Gun Smith led a freshly roped wild bronco out into a wide stretch of mesa, skirted on all sides by the expectant cowpunchers, and then quickly removed the lasso. Pecos Bill, who was at the bronco’s side, gave a sudden backward air flop and landed astride the startled pony. Pecos sat an instant on its shivering back and dug his toes into the horse’s side, much as a monkey might have done.
The next instant Pecos let out the shrill blood call of the Mountain Lion and at the same time began to fan the bronco’s ears with his ten-gallon hat. Needless to say, the pony began to buck furiously.
Pecos Bill Page 5
