by Jim Cox
“Punch me in the face, Bart.”
“I won’t do that, Mr. Douglas. I don’t want to hurt you.” Douglas laughed. “Don’t worry, Bart, I can handle myself.”
Bart swung as hard as he could, only to be lightly slapped three times before his fist landed in Mr. Douglas’ left hand. He was amazed.
“How did you do that?”
“I took the direct route to your face while you went around the barn.”
For the next hour, Douglas gave instructions while Bart punched the sawdust-filled bag. It was the first of many lessons to follow.
During supper, Liz noticed Bart’s skinned knuckles and asked about them. “I’ve been fighting sawdust, Liz.” A puzzled frown came to her face. Bart was smiling as he turned to his new fighting instructor.
Chapter Twenty-Six
The next five days were gloomy. An endless stream of slate gray clouds flowed eastward, hanging so low the mountain tops seemed to be hiding. An occasional snow shower added to the accumulation of white covering the ground. Strong winds blew, creating snow banks.
In spite of the weather, the Double D folks remained busy. Cows were milked, eggs were gathered, the livestock was fed and placed in the corral twice a day to exercise and drink. The men took inventory of the tools in the barn, oiling those in need and sharpening the cutting tools. They built household furniture, including chairs, storage cabinets, and a few other items the women requested. The ladies sewed, cooked, churned butter, and did washing every week. Mrs. Douglas cut the men’s hair and trimmed their beards when needed.
Thomas and the boys were walking to the barn late one evening, ready to call it a night, when an eerie sound came from the east echoed by a similar noise from the north. They all stopped in their tracks.
“W-w-w-what was that?” asked Jake.
“It’s two bull elk bugling,” answered Thomas. “Most likely, two male elk are competing for the attention of females, trying to get them to join their harems. November and December are the rutting season for elk, the time for mating. It’s also the time for most animals to migrate from the mountains to the lowlands for the winter.”
“Are there many wild animals around here?”
“Yes, there are. That’s why the Indians are so protective of this area. It’s one of their most prized hunting grounds. There are rabbits, elk, deer, wolves, coyotes, and bears, black and grizzly. The bears hibernate in the winter. There are also buffalo on the plateaus not far from here.”
Jake and Bart’s eyes were bugging as they looked at Thomas. Jake asked the obvious question. “Will the bears or wolves attack you?” Thomas told them most animals are dangerous if an intruder comes close to their young.
“You should always be cautious of bears, especially grizzlies. Most of the time they’ll avoid people, but you can’t count on it. My advice is to shun them if possible.”
He explained how wolves stalk weakened animals in the winter when their food supply runs low, and under extreme conditions, would stalk humans.
To perk up spirits during these gray days, Mrs. Douglas and Liz would sometimes end the day with a special evening supper. The meals often lasted for a couple hours, while everyone talked about the day’s experience or discussed the future of the Double D Ranch. Some of the talks were about the upcoming day’s work, but many moved on to the future, talking about what could be done to shape the ranch for the better.
It was during one of these meals Douglas asked, “Thomas, how many cows for breeding do you think the ranch can support?”
“Depends on the weather and how the grass grows, but I’d say on average, seven to eight acres per cow and calf should be sufficient. That’s better than most ranches, but the Double D is mostly prairie land, rich in high nutrient grasses. Some of the hilly land to the west of us requires nearly a hundred acres per cow.”
“That means we can run over five hundred head of cows when the ranch is full,” suggested Douglas.
“It can handle a lot more than that, Herb. There’s government ground connected to the Double D that’s not been claimed. It’s not quite as good as the Double D, but it’s better than a lot of the ranches. I’d say there’s at least fifteen thousand acres of grazing land available to the Double D.”
Douglas was shocked at Thomas’ comments. “Why hasn’t anyone claimed the grazing rights?”
“For the same reason that no one wanted this ranch before you came along—Indians.”
“That means if we secure the grazing rights, we could run over two thousand head of cows, plus their offspring and a fair size herd of horses?”
“That’s right,” answered Thomas.
“I’d better go to town before long to register for the grazing rights,” Douglas said with enthusiasm.
“You can’t apply for it yet, Herb. The law says you must be running at least three hundred head of branded stock and live on the land for a year before registering.”
“I guess that means we wait for now.”
The table became quiet as folks sat disappointed over the grazing law. A minute or two later, Bart spoke up. “Where’s the two hundred head the Vincents brought in?” Thomas and Douglas eyed each other with a grin and immediately started making plans to search for the Vincent’s cattle. The four men would leave after breakfast the next day if the weather permitted. The search would start east of the homestead along the tree line near the prairie, which probably offered the best winter grazing and protection for the cows. If the area came up empty, a search northward along the base of the mountain would be conducted the following day.
“I hope you find the cows,” interjected Mrs. Douglas. “We may have to butcher one. There’s only enough meat to last a few more days.”
Bart was considering Mrs. Douglas’s comment when an idea came. “Thomas says those eerie sounds we’ve been hearing are made by elk coming off the mountains. He says their meat is good eating, and a large male would supply our needs for a month. Isn’t that right Thomas?”
“I’d say closer to two months, Bart. Actually, I prefer elk over deer or buffalo meat. It doesn’t have a wild taste—tastes more like beef. Why don’t we all take guns tomorrow? Never know when we might spot a deer or elk.”
The snow was up to the horses’ hocks as they walked slowly among the trees looking for evidence of the missing stock. The men spread out over a two-hundred-yard span, following the line of the prairie. Several times during the morning trails of packed snow were found, but after careful examination, the men could tell they were made by deer or elk.
They built a fire to make coffee when they stopped for their noon meal. Pillow-like clouds floated through a clear blue sky, and in the distance, eagles glided on motionless wings in the mountain’s air currents. Trickles of water started their downhill course as the noon sun beamed down its heat.
The day’s search was disappointing. Not one sign of a cow or horse was seen. They had continued their search for two hours after their noon meal when Douglas spoke up. “We’re over ten miles from home, and it’ll be dark before we get back, even if we start now. I’d suggest we call it a day and begin a new search tomorrow.” Everyone agreed.
Bart, who was on the northern flank of the men, was about to turn back when Maude stiffened, looking to the north with ears pointed. “Something has Maude’s attention,” he yelled to the others. The four followed Maude’s lead, and several minutes later Douglas found the print of a single cow. Within the next quarter of a mile, the snow became trampled with prints; some were small, indicating calves or yearlings, but most were from heavy cows.
The men followed the northward trail and found the stock strung out against a cliff, which gave the cows ideal protection from the weather. Over half the animals had white faces and a stocky, muscular confirmation. They seemed contented as they stood or lay, chewing their cud. The calves and yearlings were unbranded, but the mature cows carried the Vincent brand—two interlocking boxes.
With the cattle found, the men started home knowing good
things were in the making. Come early spring, their work days would be long, filled with branding, castrating, sorting, and the other work required to civilize the herd. Collecting the maverick herd would be hard, but each man became excited in anticipation of the challenge to come. The challenge of taking the first step in making the Double D a true Western ranch.
The men stabled and took care of their mounts before going indoors to eat. A distant, eerie bugling sound could be heard. I’ll get you tomorrow, Bart thought. We need the meat.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
After their morning chores, Thomas and Bart mounted their rides and headed north along the creek in search of a bull elk. This was strange country to both riders since neither had been more than a couple hundred yards north of the homestead. Thomas rode Black and Bart was on Maude, holding the tether of a draft horse following behind.
They had been en route for ten to fifteen minutes when they heard a faint roar ahead. Riding a little farther, they came to where the stream and mountain took a sharp turn to the northwest and then circled back around, forming a horseshoe-shaped boxed canyon of about a hundred acres; its sides went straight up. The opening into the boxed canyon was two hundred feet wide. The stream they had been following flowed out of a large pool of water filled from a mountain waterfall thirty feet above. The waterfall was only twenty yards from the opening of the boxed canyon.
The men dismounted and spent several minutes exploring the area. The pool beneath the falling water was four to five feet deep with a solid rock ledge circling the pool and extended behind the waterfall into a cave about half the size of the Douglas’ bunkhouse. “This cave is a perfect place to store food, Bart,” Thomas said. “The temperature will stay about fifty degrees with a high humidity throughout the year. Food would keep for a long time in here.”
“How about wild animals?” asked Bart. “Wouldn’t they bother it?”
“I don’t think so. The water will mask the smell, and the sound of falling water will be a deterrent. Most animals don’t like to get wet.”
“The pool looks like a good place to swim or take a bath.” suggested Bart.
“Only in the summertime,” Thomas laughed. “And even then, it’ll be ice cold.” They both smiled. Before leaving, the men squatted and drank the cold, clear water from cupped hands, saving their canteens. Afterward, they led the horses to the stream. The sun had climbed to its midmorning position by the time they mounted, but before moving off, they sat for a few minutes observing the beautiful surroundings.
They rode at an easy pace around the perimeter of the horseshoe canyon wall, looking for slopes or crevasses that would allow cows or humans to climb in or out, but none were found. At the far end of the canyon was a small pool of water about three feet deep, glistening in a hollowed-out rock formation. Trickles of water, coming from cracks in the cliff wall, filled the pool. The overflow found ways to disappear into an unseen stream beneath the rock. After riding around the entire canyon, they continued their northward trek alongside the base of the mountain.
Sometime later, they moved away from the mountain and traveled southeast through a thick timberland of pine and birch trees at a slow, deliberate pace, staying within sight of each other. They avoided brushing against tree limbs and rode around fallen branches to keep from making sounds that might alert the hunted animals. Fortunately, the snow was soft in the shadows of the dense trees, and along with the underlying cushion of pine needles, made their travel almost noiseless. Even though the trees were thick, the white background of the snow-covered ground made for perfect visibility. They stopped every fifty paces to listen for sounds and look for movements, always on the lookout for animal tracks.
The sun was high in the sky when a strong thwacking noise, some distance ahead, was heard by both riders. It sounded like two sticks being slammed together. They tried to distinguish the source, but the sound had stopped. A short time later, the noise started again. Thomas eased over to Bart and said the noise most likely came from the racks of two bull elk fighting not over a quarter of a mile away. They rode on, alert and observing the snow for tracks that might lead to the elk. Thirty minutes later, they came upon prints coming from the east. From the looks of things, several females and two large bulls had passed. The men dismounted and tied their horses.
With shells in their rifle chambers, the men slipped forward, staying concealed in the trees. Finally, an open plateau came into view about five hundred yards away. The elk couldn’t be seen at first because of the camouflage effect of their surroundings, but soon, movement caught the men’s eyes. The elk were on the far side of the plateau. “We’ve got to get closer, Bart,” whispered Thomas. “We’ll stay together and go around to the west, in the tree line. When we get within two hundred yards, we’ll shoot. If there are two males, I’ll take the one on the left. You shoot the other. We’ll both fire on my count to five.” They crept forward.
When positioned, they could see twelve females and three bulls within shooting distance. One male was small, but the other two were massive. The two large males were not very watchful of their surroundings because of their constant fighting to establish dominance. The females, however, seemed nervous and very much alert. They would lower their heads to eat for a few seconds and then raise their heads to search for intruders.
The men were standing with raised guns braced against trees when the two elk stopped their fighting and stood broadside. Each man took a deep breath and fixed his gun’s sight slightly behind the front leg of his bull. Slowly Thomas whispered, “One, two, three, four, five.” Both hunters squeezed their triggers, and both animals fell to the ground.
Bart rode behind Thomas on the way home because the two field-dressed elk weighed close to twelve hundred pounds. The weight was too heavy for the draft, so Maude was forced to carry some of the load.
Shadows were cast over the homestead when the hunters dismounted, and the Double D folks hurried out to see the prize of the day’s hunt. “That’s enough meat to last us a few months,” Douglas said. “Where do you intend to store it?” Bart looked at Thomas and smiled.
The elk were butchered and the meat was placed in white feed bags before they sat down to their evening meal. With full stomachs and coffee in hand, Thomas and Bart opened the conversation about their day. They excitedly described the waterfall, the pool, and the cave. Thomas continued by going into great detail about the boxed canyon. Everyone listened very attentively, knowing these finds were important. Bart painted a vivid description of coming upon the elk and the accurate shots, but minds kept returning to the waterfall, cave, and box canyon.
Mrs. Douglas spoke, “How long do you think meat will keep in the cave, Thomas?”
“For at least five to six months. Remember, the temperature will be constant the year around and should stay a little below fifty degrees. I’d suggest we build hanging racks for the meat tomorrow, that’s our immediate need. We can build shelving to hold other items at a later date.”
“How about potatoes and other vegetables?” asked Liz. “Will they keep as long as the meat?”
“I’m not sure, Liz, but I think they should stay good for several months. Potatoes can best be kept in a potato hill at the edge of the garden.”
Douglas interrupted. “Thomas, you have something in mind for the boxed canyon. What is it?”
Thomas could hardly contain his enthusiasm as he unfolded his plan. “It’ll make a perfect holding pen for the stock, come spring. All we have to do is build a barrier across the mouth of the canyon with a gate in the middle. There’s water and enough grass there to last the herd a couple of weeks.”
“I thought we’d service the stock on the range. Why do we have to put them in a holding pen?” asked Douglas.
“It’s normal to have two roundups each year. The roundup this spring will be our most difficult one. It’ll require extra handling and a lot of hard work to get the Vincents’ mavericks in a manageable condition. Our first task will be to separate any branded
animals not wearing the Double Box. Then we’ll need to rope and brand the rest. Most of the males will be castrated at our first roundup, except for a few that’ll make good breeding bulls. We’ll need to separate all the cattle we’re not keeping for breeding and see if they can join a neighbor’s cattle drive. On our fall roundup, we’ll brand the new calves and cut the weanling males. After this year, it won’t be necessary to drive the herd to a holding area.”
“Will other ranchers include our stock in their drive? Is that a likely possibility, Thomas?” asked Douglas.“It’s the neighborly thing to do, and besides, larger herds bring higher prices. But our challenge will be to have our cattle ready before the drives start.”
“How long do the drives take?” Douglas asked. “And when will the money come our way?”
“The drive to Sedalia, Missouri, takes a little over twelve weeks. It’s the most popular destination for ranchers in this area. However, two years ago the rail service was extended farther west, so there may be closer markets now. Sometimes a drive may get diverted to a different destination if the original market is flooded with cattle and prices are low. We’ll have to wait and see where the drives are headed before we can establish a timetable. As far as the money is concerned, it usually comes by wire as soon as the herd is sold.”
“What’ll we do with the cows carrying another brand?” Bart asked.
“It’s customary to return them to their owners. We can do that when we’re finished separating our stock.”
“But to start the process,” Douglas interrupted, “you say we need to build a barrier across the entrance of the box canyon. What kind of restriction do we need?”
“We can simply drag some felled trees across the opening. It might take two trees, side-by-side to make an adequate barrier but that should be sufficient. The obstruction may need to be refreshed in a couple years, but we’ll be able to construct a proper fence by then. In the future, the canyon will be a good location to keep horses.”
