CHAPTER XXV
THE RIO BLANCO PUTS IN A CLAIM
Preparations for the drive occupied several days. The cattle were roundedup and carefully worked. Many of those that had roughed through the hardwinter were still weak. Some of these would yet succumb and wouldincrease the thirty per cent of losses already counted. Only those ableto stand inspection were thrown into the trail herd. Afterward, a secondcut was made and any doubtful ones culled from the bunch.
Word had come from Rangely that all the streams were high as far as andbeyond the Utah line. But the owner of the Slash Lazy D was undercontract to deliver and he could not wait for the water to go down.
When the road herd had been selected and the mavericks in the round-upbranded with the Slash Lazy D or whatever other brand seemed fairconsidering the physical characteristics of the animal and the group withwhich it was ranging, Harshaw had the cattle moved up the river a coupleof miles to a valley of good grass. Here they were held while the ranchhands busied themselves with preparations for the journey. A wagon andharness were oiled, a chuck-box built, and a supply of groceries packed.Bridles and cinches were gone over carefully, ropes examined, and hobblesprepared.
The remuda for the trail outfit was chosen by Harshaw himself. He knewhis horses as he knew the trail to Bear Cat. No galled back or lame legcould escape his keen eye. No half-tamed outlaw could slip into thecavvy. Every horse chosen was of proved stamina. Any known to be afraidof water remained at the ranch. Every rider would have to swim streams adozen times and his safety would depend upon his mount. Tails werethinned, hoofs trimmed, manes cleared of witches' bridles, and earsswabbed to free them of ticks.
The start was made before dawn. Stars were shining by thousands when thechuck-wagon rolled down the road. The blatting of cows could be heard asthe riders moved the phantom cattle from their bedding-ground.
The dogies were long-legged and shaggy, agile and wild as deer. They weresmall-boned animals, not fit for market until they were four-year-olds.On their gaunt frames was little meat, but they were fairly strong andvery voracious. If not driven too hard these horned jackrabbits, as somewag had dubbed them, would take on flesh rapidly.
Harshaw chose five punchers to go with him--Dud, Big Bill, Tom Reeves,Hawks, and Bob. A light mess-wagon went with the outfit. Before noon theherd had grazed five miles down the river.
The young grass matted the ground. Back of the valley could be seen thegreenclad mesas stretching to the foothills which hemmed in the RioBlanco. The timber and the mesquite were in leaf. Wild roses andoccasionally bluebells bloomed. The hillsides were white with theblossoms of service berries.
In the early afternoon they reached the ford. Harshaw trailed the cattleacross in a long file. He watched the herd anxiously, for the stream wasrunning strong from the freshet. After a short, hard swim the animalsmade the landing.
The mess-wagon rattled down to the ford as the last of the herd scrambledashore.
"Think I'll put you at the reins, Dud," the cattleman said. "Head thehorses upstream a little and keep 'em going."
All the other punchers except Bob were across the river with the herd.
Dud relieved the previous driver, gathered up reins and whip withcompetent hands, and put the horses at the river. They waded in throughthe shallows, breasted the deep water, and began to swim. Before they hadgone three yards they were in difficulties. The force of the currentcarried the light wagon downstream. The whiplash cracked around the earsof the horses, but they could not make headway. Team, wagon, and driverbegan to drift down the river. Supplies, floating from the top of theload, were scattered in all directions.
Instantly six men became very busy. Rope loops flew out and tightenedaround the bed of the wagon. Others circled the necks of the horses. Duddived into the river to lighten the load. Harshaw, Bob, and the cook rodeinto the shallow water and salvaged escaping food, while the riders onthe other bank guided wagon and team ashore.
Dud, dripping like a mermaid, came to land with a grin. Under one arm apasty sack of flour was tucked, under the other a smoked venison haunch."An' I took a bath only yesterday," he lamented.
The food was sun-dried and the wagon repacked.
At Dry Creek, which was now a rushing torrent, Harshaw threw the cattleinto a draw green with young grass and made camp for the night.
"We got neighbors," announced Big Bill, watching a thin column of smokerising from the mesa back of them.
"Guess I'll drift over after supper," Harshaw said. "Maybe they can giveme the latest news about high water down the river."
Hawks had just come in from the remuda. He gave information.
"I drifted over to their camp. An old friend, one of 'em. Gent by thename of Bandy Walker. He's found that outfit of he-men he was lookin'for."
"Yes," said the cattleman non-committally.
"One's a stranger. The other's another old friend of some o' the boys.Jake Houck he calls hisself."
Bob's heart shriveled within him. Two enemies scarcely a stone's throwaway, and probably both of them knew he was here. Had they come to settlewith him?
He dismissed this last fear. In Jake Houck's scheme of things he was notimportant enough to call for a special trip of vengeance.
"We'll leave 'em alone," Harshaw decided. "If any of them drop over we'llbe civil. No trouble, boys, you understand."
But Houck's party did not show up, and before break of day the camp ofthe trail herd outfit was broken. The riders moved the herd up the creekto an open place where it could be easily crossed. From here the cattledrifted back toward the river. Dud was riding on the point, Hawks andDillon on the drag.
In the late afternoon a gulch obstructed their path. It ran down at rightangles to the Rio Blanco. Along the edge of this Harshaw rode till hefound an easier descent. He drove the leaders into the ravine and startedthem up the other side of the trough to the mesa beyond. The cattlecrowded so close that some of them were forced down the bed of the gorgeinstead of up the opposite bank.
Bob galloped along the edge and tried to head the animals back by firinghis revolver in front from above. In this he was not successful. Thegulch was narrow, and the pressure behind drove the foremost cattle on tothe river.
The dogies waded in to drink. The push of the rear still impelled theones in advance to move deeper into the water. Presently the leaders wereswimming out into the stream. Those behind followed at heel.
Dillon flung his horse down into the ravine in the headlong fashion hehad learned from months of hill riding. He cantered along it, splashingthrough shallow pools and ploughing into tangled brush. When he camewithin sight of the river the cattle were emerging from it upon a sandybar that formed an island in midstream.
He kicked off his chaps, remounted, and headed into the water. Thecurrent was strong and Powder River already tired. But the broncobreasted the rushing waters gamely. It was swept downstream, fightingevery inch of the way. When at last the Wyoming horse touched bottom, itwas at the lower edge of the long bar.
Bob swung down into the water and led his mount ashore.
From the bank he had just left, Hawks called to him. "Want I should comeover, or can you handle 'em?"
"Better stay there till I see if I can start 'em back," Bob shouted.
On Powder River he rounded up the cattle, a score or more of them, anddrove them back into the stream. They went reluctantly, for they too weretired and the swim across had been a hard one. But after one or two hadstarted the others followed.
The young cowpuncher did not like the look of the black rushing waters.He had known one horrible moment of terror while he was crossing, thatmoment during which he had been afraid Powder River would be swept beyondthe point of the sand spit. Now he cringed at the thought of venturinginto that flood again. He postponed the hazard, trying two or threestarting-places tentatively before he selected one at the extreme upperpoint of the island.
His choice was a bad one. The bronco was carried down into a swirl ofdeep, angry water. So swift
was the undertow that Powder River wasdragged from beneath its rider. Bob caught at the mane of the horse andclung desperately to it with one hand. A second or two, and this was tornfrom his clutch.
Dillon was washed downstream. He went under, tried to cry for help, andswallowed several gulps of water. When he came to the surface again hewas still close to the island, buffeted by the boiling torrent. It swepthim to a bar of willow bushes. To these he clung with the frenzy of adrowning man.
After a time he let go one hand-hold and found another. Gradually heworked into the shallows and to land. He could see Powder River, fardownstream, still fighting impotently against the pressure of thecurrent.
Bob shuddered. If he lived a hundred years he would never have a closerescape from drowning. It gave him a dreadful sinking at the stomach evento look at the plunging Blanco. The river was like some fearful monsterfuriously seeking to devour.
The voice of Hawks came to him. "Stay there while I get the boss."
The dismounted cowboy watched Hawks ride away, then lay down in the hotsand and let the sun bake him. He felt sick and weak, as helpless as ablind and wobbly pup.
It may have been an hour later that he heard voices and looked across tothe mouth of the ravine. Harshaw and Big Bill and Dud were there withHawks. They were in a group working with ropes.
Harshaw rode into the river. He carried a coil of rope. Evidently two ormore lariats had been tied together.
"Come out far as you can and catch this rope when I throw it," Harshawtold the marooned cowboy.
Bob ventured out among the willows, wading very carefully to make sure ofhis footing. The current swirled around his thighs and tugged at him.
The cattleman flung the rope. It fell short. He pulled it in and rewoundthe coil. This time he drove his horse into deeper water. The animal wasswimming when the loop sailed across to the willows.
Dillon caught it, slipped it over his body, and drew the noose tight. Amoment later he was being tossed about by the cross-currents. The lariattightened. He was dragged under as the force of the torrent flung himinto midstream. His body was racked by conflicting forces tugging at it.He was being torn in two, the victim of a raging battle going on topossess him. Now he was on his face, now on his back. For an instant hecaught a glimpse of blue sunlit sky before he plunged down again into theblack waters and was engulfed by them....
He opened his eyes. Dud's voice came from a long way.
"Comin' to all right. Didn't I tell you this bird couldn't drown?"
The mists cleared. Bob saw Dud's cheerful smile, and back of it the facesof Harshaw, Hawks, and Big Bill.
"You got me out," he murmured.
"Sure did, Bob. You're some drookit, but I reckon we can dry you like wedid the grub," his riding mate said.
"Who got me?"
"Blame the boss."
"We all took a hand, boy," Harshaw explained. "It was quite some job. Youwere headed for Utah right swift. The boys rode in and claimed ownership.How you feelin'?"
"Fine," Bob answered, and he tried to demonstrate by rising.
"Hold on. What's yore rush?" Harshaw interrupted. "You're right dizzy, Iexpect. A fellow can't swallow the Blanco and feel like kickin' a hole inthe sky right away. Take yore time, boy."
Bob remembered his mount. "Powder River got away from me--in the water."He said it apologetically.
"I'm not blamin' you for that," the boss said, and laid a kindly hand onDillon's shoulder.
"Was it drowned?"
"I reckon we'll find that out later. Lucky you wasn't. That's a heap moreimportant."
Bob was riding behind Dud fifteen minutes later in the wake of the herd.Hawks had gone back to learn what had become of Powder River.
Supper was ready when Buck reached camp. He was just in time to hear thecook's "Come an' get it." He reported to Harshaw.
"Horse got outa the river about a mile below the island. I scouted aroundsome for it, but couldn't trail in the dark."
"All right, Buck. To-morrow Dud and Bob can ride back and get the bronc.We'll loaf along the trail and make a short day of it."
He sat down on his heels, reached for a tin plate and cup, and began oneof the important duties of the day.
The Fighting Edge Page 25
