Tales from the X-bar Horse Camp: The Blue-Roan Outlaw and Other Stories

by Will C. Barnes

  LOST IN THE PETRIFIED FOREST

  By permission _Overland Monthly_, San Francisco, Calif.

  When the stockholders of the "Lazy H" outfit met annually in solemnconclave to receive the report of their range manager and find out howmuch more the expenses for the year had been than the receipts, theycalled it the "Montezuma Cattle Company," but as their brand was an Hlying down on the sides of their cattle thus, ([symbol: H]) everyone onthe range called it the "Lazy H" outfit.

  We were in the Lazy H winter horse camp looking after a hundred andseventy-five cow-ponies that had seen a hard summer's work, and the jobwas a snap. Two men rode out every morning and saw that none of theanimals strayed too far, bringing them all in for water down the trailin the canyon, salting them once a week, and keeping a sharp lookout forhorse thieves, both white and Indian.

  The camp was a dugout in the side of a hill, part logs, part hill, witha dirt roof a foot thick. A grand fireplace in one end served alike forheating and cooking purposes, and at night with a fire of pine knots youcould lie in the "double decker" bunks and read as if the place waslighted with an arc lamp. There was a heavy door in the end, while halfa dozen loopholes cut in the logs served for windows and for defense ifnecessary.

  Two of the boys were playing a solemn game of "seven-up" to decide whichof them should build the fire in the morning, and the balance weresmoking or reading some two-weeks-old newspapers that had come out fromtown with the last load of grub.

  Outside the wind was whistling around the corner, and the coyotes,attracted by the scent of a freshly killed yearling hanging in acedar near the dugout, were howling and shrieking like a lot ofschool-children at play.

  "Just about such a night outside as the night old man Hart's wife andkids got lost two years ago," remarked Peg Leg Russel, who was busy withleather strings and an awl plaiting a fancy quirt.

  "Didn't you help hunt for 'em?" queried a voice from one of the bunks.

  "Sure thing I did," answered the quirt maker, "and, what's more," hecontinued, "I hope I never get another such job as long as I live."

  "Tell us about it Peg Leg. You know I was over in Kansas looking after abunch of company steers that fall and never did get the straight of it."The speaker turned from his game of solitaire toward the one-leggedcow-puncher. With his knife Russel clipped the end of a leather stringfrom the finished "Turk's head," laid the quirt on the floor and rolledit back and forth under the sole of his boot to give it the proper "set"and finish, finally hanging it on the wall. Then he filled and lightedhis pipe, and after a few preliminary puffs, began his story.

  "_We was camped over in the petrified forest_"]

  "Well, boys, that was one of the toughest nights I've seen in Arizony.We was camped up near the 'Peterified' Forest on our way back to theheadquarter ranch. We'd been down to the railroad with a bunch ofsteers, and expected to bust the outfit up for the winter when we gotback to the ranch. It were late in November, an' you all know howeverlastin' cold it gits 'long in November an' December.

  "Well, 'long comes one of them tearin' howlin' sandstorms 'bout twoo'clock in the afternoon, and the wagon boss camped us under the lee ofa hill and wouldn't go any furder. And 'twas well he did, too, fer thewind blowed a gale, snow begin to fall, and ag'in sunset it was asornery a piece of weather as I ever seen anywheres. You all know wood'spow'ful skeerce up thar, too, and all the cook had was sage brush an''chips.'

  "We put in a mis'able night. The wind blowed every way, an' drifted sandan' snow into our beds in spite of all a feller could do. Me and Sandy,the horse-wrangler, slep' together, an' Sandy he lowed, he did, that theLord mus' have it in fer us pore ignorant cow-punchers that night,shore. About daylight I heard a shot, then another, an' another.Everybody 'most in camp waked up, an' Wilson, the wagon boss, he takeshis six-shooter an' fires a few shots to answer 'em.

  "We all speculated as to what it meant at such a time, an' Wilson hesays he'd bet a yearlin' ag'in a sack of terbaccer that it were somederned tenderfoot bug-hunter who'd been out to the Petrified Forest an'gone an' lost hisself, an' now was a bellerin' around like a dogiecalf. The cook he lowed 'twan't no bug-hunter, 'cause that was thecrack of a forty-five, an' them bug-hunter fellers ginerally packed alittle short twenty-two to stand off the Injuns, an' we all laughed atthis, fer the night we got the steers shipped the cook went up town an'got full as a goat, an' tried to run a 'sandy' over a meek-lookingtenderfoot, who wan't a harmin' nobody; but he wan't near so meek as helooked, an' fust thing the _cocinero_ knowed he war a gazin' in to oneof them same little twenty-twos, an' I'm blessed if the stranger didn'ttake his forty-five away from him an' turned him over to the sheriff tocool off--but I guess you all know about that.

  "We could soon hear the 'chug chug' of a pony's feet, an' then a voice ahollerin'. We all gave a yell, and in a few minutes a man named Hartrode into camp. We all knowed him. He was a sheep man with a ranch overon the 'tother side of the Petrified Forest. He was nearly froze an'half crazy with excitment, an' 'twas some minutes afore we could git himto tell what was a hurtin' him.

  "'Boys,' he says, 'for God's sake git up an' help me find my wife an'chillun.'

  "An' then he told us he had been away from his ranch all the day before,at one of his sheep camps over on the Milky Holler. When he left in themornin' his wife tole him she'd hitch up the hosses to the buckboardafter dinner an' take the kids an' drive down to the railroad stationan' git the mail, an' git back in time for supper. You know it's 'bouteight miles down to the station at Carrizo.

  "Comin' home at night in the wust of the storm, Hart had found the shackempty, his wife not home yit an' the hosses gone. Thinkin' that thestorm had kept 'em, he waited an hour or two, when he got so blamedoneasy he couldn't wait no longer, but saddled up his hoss an' drug itfor the station. When he got there they told him his wife had left 'boutan hour by sun, an' they hadn't seen nothin' of her sence, although theyhad begged her not to start back, an' the wind a-blowin' like it was.'Twas then about as dark as the inside of a cow, and leavin' the men atthe station to foller him, Hart struck out across the prairie, ridin' inbig circles, and tryin', but without no luck, to cut some 'sign' of thebuckboard and hosses. You know, fellers, how them sandy mesas are aboutthere, and, between the driftin' sand and the snow, every mark had beenwiped out slick and clean. Then he pulled his freight for the ranch,thinkin' mebbeso she'd got back while he were away; but nary a sign ofthem was there about the place. He struck out agin, makin' big circles,and firin' his six-shooter and hollerin' like an Apache Injin, all thetime a-listenin' an' a-prayin' fer some answer. Then he heerd our shotsand thought sure he'd found her, fer she always carried a gun when shewent out alone, and he jist hit the high places till he ran onto ourcamp and he war sure disappointed when he seen us an' not her.

  "'Tain't no use for to tell you that we got a move onto ourselves.You've all seen the Cimarron Kid git a move on an' tear round and justbust hisself to get out to the herd in the mornin' to relieve the lastguard, along in the fall when the boss was pickin' out men for thewinter work. Well, that was the way we all tore round, an' as everybodykep' up a night hoss (you all know what a crank that feller Wilson was'bout night hosses; he'd make every man keep one up if he had the wholecavyyard in a ten-acre field), we soon had a cup of coffee into us an'was ready to ride slantin'. Pore Hart was so nigh crazy that he couldn'tsay nothin', an' 'twas hard to see a big, strong feller as he was allbroke up like.

  "By this time 'twas gettin' daylight in the east an' we struck out,scatterin' every way, but keepin' in sight an' hearin' of each other.'Bout two miles from camp I ran slap dab onto the buckboard, with one ofthe hosses tied up to the wheel, an' 'tother gone. The harness of theother hoss laid on the ground, an' from the sign, she had evidentlyunharnessed the gentlest hoss of the two, an' got on him, with the kids,an' tried to ride him bareback. I fired a couple of shots, which broughtsome of the other boys to me, an' we follered up the trail, step bystep, 'cause 'twas a hard trail to pick out, owin', as I said, to thesand an' sn
ow.

  "Pretty soon we come to where she had got off the hoss an' led him for aways; then we found the tracks of the kids; an' we judged they'd all gotso cold they had to walk to git warm; an' all that time my fingers an'ears was tinglin' an achin', they was so cold, an' what was them porekids an' that little woman goin' to do, when a big, stout puncher likeme was shiverin' an' shakin' like a old cow under a cedar in a norther?

  "Bimeby we struck the hoss standin' there all humped up with the cold,the reins hooked over a little sage bush. I sent one of the boys backwith the hoss, an' tole him to hitch up to the buckboard an' foller on,fer I knowed shore we'd need it to put their pore frozen bodies on whenwe found 'em.

  "Here we saw signs where she'd tried to build a fire, but, LordA'mighty, you know how hard it is to find anything to burn round thatthere Petrified Forest country, an' she only had three or four matches,an' nothin' to make a fire catch with. Then she started on ag'in, an' Ijudged she'd got a star to go by, 'cause she kep' almost straight northto'ds the railroad. By the trail, she was a-carryin' the youngest kid, aboy 'bout two years old, an' leadin' the other, which was a little gal'bout five.

  "Right here, fellers, she showed she was fit to be the wife of a manlivin' in such a country. She knowed mighty well that she'd be follered,an' that her trail would be hard to find, so what does she do but tearpieces out of the gingham skirt she had on, an' hang 'em along on a sagebrush here, an' a Spanish bayonet there, so's we could foller faster.When we struck this sign an' seed what sh'd done, one of the boys says,says he, 'Fellers, ain't she a trump, an' no mistake?' An' so she shorewas.

  "We jist turned our hosses loose along here, an' one of us would lopeahead an' cut for sign, an' as soon as he found it, another would cut inahead of him, an' in that way we trailed her up, right peart. We soonran the trail down to the edge of the big mesa back of the Carrizostation.

  "If you remember, it's quite a cliff there, mebbeso two hundred feetdown; sort of in steps, from two to six feet high. We seen where shejumped over the fust ledge an' helped the young ones down. She workedher way down the rocky cliff that way, step by step, an' it must 'a'been a job, too, in the dark, an' as cold as she was. Two of us went ondown the cliff, an' I sent the other boys around with the hosses, to abreak, where there was a good trail.

  "Right here I began to think that p'raps she's been saved, after all.'Twas only a mile from the foot of the mesa to the station at Carrizo,an' in plain sight from where we were.

  "Me an' Little Bob, who was with me, was so sure that she was all rightthat we quit follerin' the trail an' jist got down the cliff anywhere wecould. When we got to the bottom an' clear of the rocks, we set out tocut for her trail ag'in, when Little Bob says, says he, 'There she is,Jack.'

  "Lord, how my heart jumped into my mouth. Seemed as if I could mosttaste it. I looks where Bob was a-p'intin', and shore enough, there shewere a-sittin' on a rock with the little boy in her lap, an' the littlegirl a-leanin' up ag'in her an' a-lookin' into her face.

  "We both gave a yell an' started to'ds her, but she never paid no'tention to us, which seemed to me mighty queer like. But we were alittle to one side of her, an' I thought mebbe she were so tired shedidn't notice us. Bob he got up to her fust, an' walked up an' put hishand on her shoulder to shake her, but, fellers, you all know how 'twas,the pore little woman an' the two young ones were dead.

  "Little Bob was so skeert that he couldn't do nothin', but I fired allthe shots in my six-shooter, an' the balance of the outfit soon came upto us.

  "Wilson he had a little more savvy than the rest of us, an' rode backan' met pore Hart, who had got off to one side, an' tells him sort o'kindly like, what we'd found; an' I reckon that Jim never had no harderjob in all his life.

  "Hart says, says he, 'Jim, old man, you take 'em inter town as tenderlyas you kin, an' make all the arrangements for the funeral, an' I'llfollow you in tonight.'

  "'Course Jim swore we'd all do everything we could, an' Hart rode offto'ds his ranch without comin' nigh the place where his little familywas a restin' so peaceful an' quiet.

  "Say, fellers, that was the pitifullest sight I ever seed, an' I've seedsome sad work in the days when old Geronimo an' his murderin' gang ofgovernment pets used to range all over the country.

  "'Twas easy enuff to read the whole thing now. She'd come to the edge ofthe mesa an' seen the lights in the station house, for they get up 'boutfour o'clock every mornin' to get breakfast for the section men.Climbin' down the cliff had used her up, an' knowin' she was so clost tohelp, she had set down on a big flat rock at the bottom to rest a minutebefore starting to walk the mile from the foot of the mesa to thestation. To set down, as cold and tired as she was, meant sleep, an' tosleep was shore death that night, an' she went to sleep an' never wokeup no more.

  "The little boy was cuddled up ag'in her under her shawl, with thepeacefullest look on his little face you ever see, an' the little girlwas a-leanin' on her lap an' a-lookin' up into her face, with the bigtears frozen on her cheeks, an' so natural that it was hard to believeshe was dead.

  "One of the boys went over to the station an' got two wagon sheets andsome blankets, an' when the buckboard came we rolled 'em up as carefullyan' softly as we could. They was so stiff we had to leave the littlefeller where he was, but the girl we rolled up separate.

  "Now, say, boys, that was a hard thing to do, for a bunch of roughcow-punchers, if you hear me. Hookey Jim he'd been through a yellowfever year down in Memphis once, an' he was more used to such things, sohe sort of bossed the job.

  "I ain't ashamed to say I bawled like a baby, fellers. Mrs. Hart wasawful good to us boys, even if her husband was a sheep man. No puncherever went there without gettin' a good square meal, no matter when itwas; an' when Curly Joe got sick over at the 'Rail N' ranch, she jistmade the boys fetch him over to her place, an' she nussed him like hisown mammy would have done.

  "After we got 'em packed on the buckboard, Wilson sent the rest of theoutfit back to camp, an' him an' me rode on into town, leavin' ShortyFrench to drive the team in. We met everybody in town out on the road tohunt for Mrs. Hart, for the word had got round that she had got lost;an' everyone that could leave had turned out on the search.

  "'Twas a sorrowful place that day, an' the next. Everybody in town knewan' loved the little woman, an' her awful death made it seem morepitiful an' sad. They made one coffin an' put her an' the two chilluninto it, one on each arm, an' they looked so sweet an' peaceful, likethey was only asleep--an', anyway, that's what he read from the book atthe grave--that they was only asleep.

  "You fellers all know how everybody in town was at the funeral, an' howone of the men in town had to say a little prayer at the grave, 'causethere wasn't no parson, they all bein' away off in Afriky an' Chineya-prayin' an' a-singin' with niggers an' Chinees, an' not havin' no timeto tend to their own kind of people to home, who p'raps needed prayin'for jist as much as the heathen in Chiney.

  "Then two sweet little girls sung a hymn 'bout 'Nearer my God to Thee,'an' when they got to the second verse everybody was a-cryin' an' thelittle girls jist busted out too, an' couldn't finish the song for along time.

  "An', boys, that's about all there is to tell."

  I glanced around the dugout. The fire had burned low and I guess themost of them were glad; for, in the uncertain light, I could seemoisture on more than one sunburned cowboy cheek, and my own eyes were,as one of them quaintly put it, "jist a-spillin' clean over with tears."