Stampede!

by Matt Chisholm

  He led him to James Madders place which was a couple of miles out of town. There were four horses in the corral, a fact that Will didn’t miss. And they didn’t look too stove in for work.

  Madders was splitting firewood. He wore the remnants of a Confederate uniform and he didn’t look opulent. He was also about twenty-five years of age and he hadn’t shaved in a couple of weeks. Sniffing around the yard and yelping at the newcomers were four cattle dogs, short-legged and tough. Will liked the look of them. He reckoned they’d heel anything on four legs.

  “Howdy,” Will said.

  “This is Will Storm,” Oaks said, “and he’s gathering a herd to go up into Kansas.”

  “I heard about it,” Madders said. “Howdy.”

  “Will you come along? Dollar a day when we sell the cows and keep. Bonus if we strike lucky,” Will said.

  Madders stuck the ax into the chopping block and said with a little grin: “Count me in.”

  They talked a little and he agreed to bring his horses and his dogs. He caught a horse, saddled it and drove the spares out of the corral. He didn’t give his home a backward glance. The dogs ran ahead down the trail.

  Will was pretty pleased with himself. He’d gotten a crew.

  The following morning, Mike Quintin rode in as he promised, bringing his two sons, some dogs, some spare horses and three tame oxen. Will started to feel that he was really getting somewhere. He knew there was still a good many things against him, but he felt he could overcome them. There were still not enough trained horses per man, there were still too many damned bulls in the brush, there were still not enough men to gather and hold the cattle. They stood around the fire on the edge of the creek and drank bitter coffee and talked a little, looking over the first bunch of cows the boys had brought in and which were now being held on the grass. They were as wild as deer and even though they had been there since the night before, several were still doing their best to break back into the brush again. Even as they stood and talked, Will picked out a black bull that he reckoned would only cause trouble. He rode over and told Mart to either kill the brute or throw him back in the brush. A couple of the boys roped him, took off so the other cattle wouldn’t be spooked and put a bullet between his eyes. The crew had to eat.

  From then on, it was all work. Will thought he had never worked so hard in all his life. Certainly he had never gone so short on sleep even in the days of soldiering. Every man was needed during the day for hunting and holding. The same set of men had to sleep and watch in relays at night so that the captured cattle could be held. As soon as one bunch of cows became accustomed to each other’s company, a fresh bunch was thrown among them to start trouble over again. Many of the animals had never seen a man before and most of them resented this abrupt interruption of their free life. Take a cow-critter that carried a pair of long and lethal horns, take a lean hard body on lean hard legs made for running and an animal whose natural enemy was man and you had the longhorn.

  They were cunning, fast and fierce. Some of them were so obstinate and so independent that a day could have been spent bringing them into the main herd on the end of a rope. And time was something they didn’t have to spare. These wild ones were necked to tame oxen and the tame animals brought them in, sometimes after a day-long struggle. What they would have done without the tame animals, Will would never know. The dogs were invaluable. They are animals who have been sadly neglected in the history of the great cow hunts. They worked untiringly and more than earned their keep.

  Many of the steers were old, so old that there were those among them who had lost their manhood before the war as calves. There were those among them who knew man and his ways and were cunning. These would stay still deep in the thickets when riders approached. These the dogs found. And where the dogs went, the veterans among the brush-popping cowponies would go and God help the rider who was unprepared for the sudden turn and charge as the horse went into the brush. It was then hold on, grit your teeth and pray. The crackle of brush from a longhorn was like the smell of battle to a war-horse. They became so excited that there was no holding them. The men clung to the saddle and hunched up under raking brush that could gouge out a man’s eye or rip him from shoulder to waist.

  The men were armored against the terrible brush, every one of them—leather coats, hide leggins, gauntlets, heavy taps on their stirrup-irons, hats fastened firmly to the head by a firm thong under the chin. The riding was the most dangerous in the world and Will prepared himself for casualties. That they would come, he didn’t doubt.

  He would have been more assured if the men hadn’t been so eager. They seemed as eager to plunge into the brush as the trained ponies. It was as though they had been lost in a long sleep and suddenly awoken to life. They rode as if their very lives depended on it. There had been the long lost years of the war, the terrible months after that dragged into years without hope. And now there was hope. If they didn’t throw themselves into this chance, this hope would die. It was up to them.

  On the third day, Martha showed that she found it impossible to keep away from the scene of action. She arrived in the wagon declaring for all to hear that she wasn’t sitting idly at home while the men worked themselves to the bone. They needed good vittles and she was going to see that they got ‘em. In spite of Will’s shamed protest, to which Mike Quintin added his, she stayed. She built herself a decent oven and got to work. She brought the two girls with her and set Melissa to work in camp, saying that it was a woman’s lot to work so the girl might as well learn now. Kate came dressed like a man in leggins, much to the shame and embarrassment of the men, eagerly obeying her mother’s order that she help to hold the herd and release a man to go on the hunt. Will had to admit that this made sense. Jody was so mad at having women around so he couldn’t swear that he was fit to be tied. Meredith Quintin had always had a shine to Kate and he was pretty pleased. Kate set about showing them that she could hold a bunch of cows on grass as well as any man. Will had to admit to himself that, though they made him pretty mad at times, he was real proud of his family.

  It became evident at once that the main danger lay in the rawness of some of the horses. There were not enough trained horses in the remuda and some of the half-broken mustangs had to be ridden. As Mike said, they were using up horses faster’n a kid could eat candy. There were times when a man could wear a horse down in an hour winkling wild cows out of the brasada that was as hot and airless as hell in places. The new horses didn’t have cow-sense and it would take some time to teach them it even if they were capable of learning. Some of them would never make out, that was plain at the start, but they had to be used just the same.

  It was one of these horses which was the first casualty.

  Nobody really saw how it happened. Mart and Jody were working together about three miles from camp and Jody was after a big brindle steer that broke from cover. He tried to head it when it turned on him. Any cow-pony would have avoided the charge without trouble. It would have been no more than routine work for it. But the raw horse that Jody was on panicked and started pitching wildly, fighting the boy’s control. It hadn’t made three jumps when the horns got it in the belly and man and horse were lifted.

  The only good thing about the incident was that Jody was thrown clear and came down on the far side of the horse away from the enraged steer. The longhorn was worrying the horse when Mart rode into sight. Will’s brother used the spurs and raced forward as Jody staggered to his feet and started to run. At once the steer left the horse and went after him. If Mart hadn’t had a good horse under him at the time it would have been all up with the boy. If he hadn’t been good with a rope, the cow would have gotten him just the same. Mart heeled it and bounced that steer over the ground a couple of times, maybe knocking the wind out of it and some sense into it. By the time it staggered to its feet and looked around a mite discouraged, Jody was up behind Mart and they were getting out of there fast.

  Later, Mart rode back, rescued Jody’s gear and ki
lled the horse. Luckily the boy seemed little the worse for his fall and worked the day out on his own insistence. But he was mighty quiet until the following morning. Then he told the tale to everybody who cared to listen.

  Will thought Martha might make a fuss over it, but she didn’t, except to say that those raw horses would be the death of somebody soon or late. Will reckoned she was just about right there, but he reckoned they’d have to go right on using them.

  It was slow work. Catching longhorns was like catching deer only most deer weren’t killing mean. It was as much like herding domestic cattle as butter is to bear-grease. But the crew toiled at it, day in and day out, and the days ran into weeks. Men grew so tired that it took them time to think of their own names. As the herd grew, sleeping lessened; it took more men to hold them and Will couldn’t cut down on the men who were actually hunting cows. But he knew that neither men nor horses could go on much longer. About the only rest they had was when they moved to fresh grass and then most of the men were needed to keep the animals together. They moved in a rough circle around the home place, going wherever there was grass and water. As the herd grew, they moved more often. The catching started to drop. Will worried. The spring grass was up and the cows should be grazing on it up the trail to Kansas. He began to suspect that he had been too big for his boots when he had promised Tim Holt such a number. The more tired he got, the more he worried.

  One afternoon when he came in to change horses, he found Martha alone at the cook-fire. She was as brown as a berry under the shade of her sun-bonnet.

  He said to her: “I don’t see how we can make it. The men can’t stand up to much more.”

  “Just live for the day,” she told him. “Let tomorrow look after itself. The Lord will provide.”

  Will was a devout man, but he didn’t trust in the Lord quite as much as his wife. He wearily threw his saddle on a fresh horse and rode out.

  Chapter Five

  But the Lord did provide. It was like a miracle. Before he knew what had happened, the day came when they held around two thousand head on the grass. The horses had ganted down alarmingly with overwork and the men had reached their limit.

  Mike Quintin told Will: “There’s my five hundred head to drive in, then we have only five hundred to go. We’ll make it, Will.”

  Will said: “The boys can’t go on another day. It’s all we can do to hold the herd.”

  They were holding the cows about a mile north of the home place now and they were starting to handle pretty well considering that fresh animals were being thrown into the herd hourly. It was then the miracle happened. Joe brought in a rider who proved to be a certain Henry Michlejohn who said he ran cows down on the coast south of there. He referred to them as sea-lions. He wanted to send beef north into Kansas but he didn’t have the cows or the men to do so on his own account. He’d heard of Will and his gather and he wondered if he could throw in with him.

  Will asked him how many head he could offer and he replied around three hundred. Will said if he could make it five hundred he was on. Michlejohn hummed and hawed a bit at that and said he’d have to get some of his neighbors cows to make up that amount. Will said he didn’t give a damn how he got them so’s he did. The cowman nodded and said by God he’d do it. And have ‘em here inside a week, Will added. Michlejohn said impossible. Will looked grim and said: “You want your cows to go north, you git ‘em here, mister.” The other looked at him as if he thought he was several different kinds of a mean bastard, but finally he said he’d do it, somehow, he didn’t quite know how. Will said: “We’ll lend you a spare horse, you can ride change and change about. Don’t stop till you git home.”

  They talked a little more and Michlejohn agreed that a nephew of his would come along with the cows. Will grinned and said: “You sure you don’t have another nephew around that can come along?”

  Michlejohn admitted he did. Will said to make sure they were both good hands, he didn’t want any green ones along and if these two proved green he’d send ‘em home right smart. Michlejohn rode out of there like a man who had met more than his equal. Will went and told the others of their good luck. If Michlejohn lived up to his word and brought in another five hundred head their cow-hunting days were over. Quintin and his boys rode off with Joe and George to help them to fetch their own cows. The remainder with Will moved the herd onto fresh grass and then dozed in the saddle longing to stretch out on good solid earth and sleep.

  In two days’ time, Quintin and his crew came back with the five hundred head and it seemed to Will that he had never seen so many cows in one place. They were surely going to be hard put to find grass for them. But he was pleased to see the rest of the outfit return. That meant he could get a few hours’ real sleep. He left Quintin in charge of the herd, went back to the wagon and slept a good six hours, the longest he had had in many weeks. When he woke some of the grogginess had gone out of him and he found to his great relief that he could think as straight as he ever did. With the freshness that he had gained came a renewed confidence. He took Joe and a couple of the boys to where they had built the branding chute and checked the branding irons that would mark the countless hides with his road-brand—the Circle Box. He couldn’t help wondering when next he would get to use his own brand of Lazy S again. Maybe next spring if they had luck in Kansas and the market was proven.

  Satisfied that all was ready, he sent Joe back to tell Quintin to drift the cows down a hundred at a time as he sent word. He and the boys built branding fires and heated the irons, then the first hundred came wild-eyed up to the chute and the boys started the fight to get the cows into the chute one at a time. The fight went on for days, the same old fight over and over. The cow would reluctantly enter the chute, balk, try to turn or try to rush through it. George was there with his pole to prevent it running clean through and as the animal halted one of the three branders would dab the Circle Box into the hair just behind the left shoulder. The cow would bellow, the pole would be pulled and it ran maybe kicking into the herd beyond.

  At first they had their troubles, but gradually the action became routine and automatic. Then men sweated and ran from fire to chute in the powerful sun, the dust rose and nostrils were full of the acrid stench of burning hide. Will changed the branding teams every hour, he didn’t want anybody passing out in the heat. Every man worked with the will they had shown from the start. They were all a team now and Will knew that they were giving the last of their strength.

  They were near the home place now and Martha and Melissa had moved back into the house. It became possible to offer the men better chow and to give them a comfortable sleep in relays on the soft hay in the barn. They started to show that they were benefiting from the easier routine, but they were still tired. Seven days passed and the branding was finished and still Michlejohn had not appeared with the extra five hundred head. Will started to despair a little, for he felt that he should be on the trail north already. He saw himself and the boys going back into the brush for more cows.

  Then on the eighth day a boy rode in on a lathered horse and asked if he was Mr. Storm. He said he was and the boy said that there were five hundred sea-lions heading up the trail to join him. Will was overjoyed and at once took Joe and Clay and rode back with the stranger and found Michlejohn five miles south with the promised cows. They drove them straight to the branding chute and got to work. Will took the opportunity to watch Michlejohn’s two nephews to see how they would shape. From what he saw of them, he reckoned they would do. Michlejohn apparently had Mexican connections because both boys were dark and their name was Mora, one Juan and the other Pepe. They were both aged about twenty and they rode well and seemed to know their way around cows. Michlejohn before he left told Will that they were both good boys and this was the first time that they had been away from their mothers. If they caught a dose of the pox in some trail town line, he’d hold Will personally responsible. What could a man say to a thing like that? Will just nodded and said all right he’d do wh
at he could, but he wasn’t a damned nursemaid. Michlejohn rode away south and they never saw him again.

  Will was now more or less satisfied, though the thought of taking this vast herd up the trail all the way to Kansas still brought butterflies to his stomach when he was left alone to think.

  He certainly had a willing crew, not as big as he would have liked nor with the horses he could have used, but they had their hearts in it. None of them except Joe and him had ever trailed cows before over any great distance and driving was an art on its own. He took the men aside in twos and threes and gave them lectures on what he expected of them. He had Joe at his elbow in case he should forget anything.

  He got all three thousand cows bedded down in one place full of water and grass, set a good watch over them, detailed men for the following guards, then went back to the house and helped Martha and the girls prepare the wagon for the trail. That done he sat down on the stoop, fired his pipe and tried to think of anything he had forgotten. He ran his mind over every item on the wagon—salt pork, flour, gunpowder, lead, spare ropes—his mind ranged untidily and without system. They were desperately low on powder and lead and there wasn’t much he could do about it without money. He knew there could be trouble on the trail, gun-trouble. He would avoid it wherever possible. He wasn’t in this for the heroics or the rights and wrongs of a situation. He was aiming to get three thousand head of wild Texas longhorns to the railroad in Kansas and that was trouble enough. But men didn’t carry guns in that day and age for the simple purposes of using them as hammers or killing steers. They were meant to hold off men.

  He had to take this herd through the Indian Nations. The tribes were said to be settled and peaceful, but they were Indians and all white men were their natural enemies. Will didn’t argue the rights and wrongs of the situation. It was a fact. The Indians were hungry and they would want beef. He knew they wouldn’t be able to resist the bonanza that came through their territory slowly on the hoof. Eating their grass. They would charge toll and that toll might prove more than the Texans could stomach.