The Ranch on the Beaver
by Andy Adams
My Kingdom for a Horse
The Arab's love for his horse is easily understood by the men of the open. The wild, waste places in the merciless deserts of the Orient find a counterpart in the dead, dull, immutable plains of the West. Scourged by every wind, sunbaked into dust, the heat-waves of which arise in mirages, symbols of the lake of fire, both are dreaded by Bedouin tribes and range-men alike. In wresting a livelihood from the waste places, none of earth's creatures come quite so near as the horse. As a comrade, weathering the sand-storms or mirages with an instinct that defies the night and scents the living water, the horse comes first.
'They say that you're an outcast,' said Joel, stroking the neck of his mount, 'and not useful around a cow-camp. But from the black stripe down your back and the rings around your legs, you must be a son of the plains. Now, just take me to the wagon and I'll call you mine and braid an eagle's feather in your mane.'
Somewhere to the southwest, and fully a hundred miles distant, lay a vague and indefinite country known as the headwaters of the Smoky River. In its brakes and dips, thankful if a lone tree was the only landmark, an outfit of men were combing its hills and vales in search of their cattle. Though absent, the dominating spirit in the work was a boy of nineteen, anxious to rejoin his men, which, to accomplish, rested solely in a horse, an animal of barter, bought in a range mart.
One's mount is good company on a journey. 'There's our course, little horse,' said the youth, glancing to the southwest. 'Our wagon's camped off in there somewhere, and you and I must look it up. The boys will be expecting us, and we'll grope our way down to the Smoky and try to locate the camp. Did you ever see the mirages come up so near? If there isn't a church, with a steeple, right on our course! And here on the left is a fleet of ships, sailing proudly, their sails glittering like white silk, and on our right is a heavy forest and lake. But these mirages can't fool old-timers like you and I. Rack along, my Spanish king, we may have some little trouble in finding the wagon to-night.'
The plain is known to her own people. An unbroken horizon of mirages possessed no fear for the horseman, as he held his course on that September morning. In spite of the optical illusions, the sun would hold its way, its quarter seen or sensed, the plain would cool and the mirages rise. With hope beating high, the boy rode into the glare of the heat-waves. The time passed unnoticed, the sun beat fiercely down at noon, the sweat crusted into scales, yet the horse never checked his volunteer gait, snorting defiance to the slightest restraint of his rider.
Conversation was almost continuous. 'Take it easy, King,' urged Joel. 'We don't expect to make the wagon by supper-time. Just so we strike near enough to get an outline on the Smoky, before dark, is all we want. Slack up a mile or two.'
Water was found near the middle of the afternoon. It was a sickly rivulet, and, after a short struggle from its source, sinking again in the sands. Yet the instinct of the Spanish native expressed itself in a single neigh; he turned abruptly on his course, and cantered up to the oasis in the plain.
'You're a safe guide, old boy,' said his owner, dismounting, 'and we'll rest a spell. All I know is, that we held our course. When these mirages lift, the outline of the river ought to be in sight. I'll unsaddle you, and a good roll and a drink and an hour's grazing will brace you for the evening's ride.'
As dawn comes or the moon rises, the lifting of the mirages threw their shadows in advance. Rising near and far, like clouds in the sky, one looks under them, as through a well-kept wood to the fields beyond. Joel was alert, and as the illusions lifted the broken country revealed the river in the distance.
'Come on, old scout,' urged the rider; 'the bugle calls to saddles. Can't you see the brakes of the river in the dip of the plain? All right, a swallow of water now, and a good drink when we reach the Smoky.'
The course of the day ran quartering to the river. The boy had crossed the country during the spring round-up, and as the mirages lifted, clearing the horizon, he began to recognize the contour of the country bordering on the expected watercourse. Darkness fell, the early stars shone forth, and after an hour the river was reached. With only a slight swerve from the day's course, the way led up it, when again the horse neighed, was answered by his kind, a light flashed forth, and a ranch was hailed.
'Any work going on at present on the range above?' inquired Joel, in response to a voice which answered his call.
An old man groped forward and peered into the boy's face, silhouetted against the night. 'Is this young Wells?' queried the voice, in kindly tones.
'Yes,' eagerly replied the youth, dismounting. 'Well, if it isn't Mr. Saddler. Yes, I stayed overnight at this ranch in July.'
'Your outfit is at work above, and you were expected to return yesterday, so our boys reported. Lead your horse around to the saddle shed.'
'Not to-night, thank you,' politely said the boy, fearful of offending range hospitality. 'Have you any idea where our wagon's camped?'
'You're not thinking of riding on to-night, I hope?' said the old man. 'Your horse must be badly fagged.'
'Oh, no,' said the youngster, with boyish pride. 'A good roll and a swig of water, and this horse is good for a hundred miles. If possible, I must make camp to-night. Honest, I must.'
'Really?'
'If I make the ride to-night, it's done; if I wait until to-morrow, it's a broken day. Let me off tonight, and I'll drop in and see you and Mrs. Saddler in a day or so.'
The old ranchman yielded, but reluctantly. 'Oh, well, if you must ride through to-night, we won't quarrel about the color of the duck eggs. You're welcome to the trip; from what I gather, your wagon is up at the North Fork, possibly at Mustang Springs to-night.'
'Give me the directions,' said Joel, swinging into the saddle.
The old man laid one hand on the horse's neck and the other on the saddle horn. 'If you are a good night hawk, you can make it in twenty miles. After you round the next bend of the river, bear off to your left, and take the evening star for your course. If your horse is good for a seven-mile gait, in about an hour turn right and cross the Smoky. The river forks a few miles above the crossing, and after that follow up the North Fork. If this is a cow-horse, he'll hardly pass the wagon without nickering. Now, it's up to you, but you're welcome to pot-luck with us to-night.'
'Thank you just the same. Bearing to the left, above, is to avoid the north bend of the Smoky?'
'To cut the big horseshoe.'
The boy and the ranchman parted, and the landmarks were carefully noted and passed in due time. 'Old scout, do you see the evening star over there? That's our course. And only twenty miles. Why, we'll make it in three hours. Shuffle along, old boy; shake out a reef, show your Spanish blood.'
The course and the night were as easily threaded as if by compass or sun. The North Fork was traced for an hour, when, in turning a bend, a beacon light flashed in the open. The horseman halted, and among the few voices of the night, a herd song arose, smoke was scented, the horse champed his bit, and was allowed cautiously to approach the sleeping camp. There was danger of running amuck of the cattle in hand, on their bed ground, and, once the latter was located, the reins were slackened and the horse cantered up to the bivouac. A lantern hung on the wagon-tongue, elevated like a flagstaff, the embers of a fire smouldered, over which the horse shied and snorted, when several figures arose in their blankets.
'Whose locoed horse are you?' came the challenge.
'That you. Jack? Did you tie up my night-horse? Well, I'm home again and ready to stand third guard.'
'It's Joel,' said a chorus of voices. All dropped back in their blankets, but Sargent arose, and the chronicle of market and camp was reviewed.
'It's turned drouthy up on the headwaters,' said the latter, 'and the cattle are along the main creeks. We'll work the Smoky River country in half the time allotted. Why, we have over four hundred under herd to-night. You'll have a big shipment within a week.'
'Good enough. Manly and Dell started for the Beaver this morning, and will be in with the last shipment in about ten days. It will be a close race which ships first.'
The work of gathering the strays along the Smoky was easy. Under a local drouth, of their own accord the cattle were more or less congested on the main waters, and the round-ups were made with little or no disturbance. Most of the ranches were shipping on their own accord, and, by working in harmony, two ranges were often worked the same day. Shortly after passing Saddler's ranch, a shipment became necessary, and the herd was turned north.
'Strays were scarce to-day,' said the foreman. 'When we come back, we can start gathering where we left off on the Smoky. We've got a big shipment of heavy beeves right now.'
Four days were required to graze the herd up to the railroad. On the second evening, Joel caught up the Spanish road horse, expecting to make another night ride in ordering cars. The cinnamon gelding had enjoyed a good rest, and, taking the north star as both course and beacon, the courier rode out of camp an hour before midnight. It was an easy task, marked by a dawn on the plains, breaking dull and gray, and ending with the rising sun, in a riot of color.
The ride was made with but a single halt. On reaching the station, almost the first person met was Dell Wells, and on a similar errand.
'Cars?' inquired the older brother, at first glance.
'Yes. Two heavy trains. We're grazing down eleven hundred.'
'We're coming up with eight hundred, mostly beeves.'
'I'm glad you're here,' admitted Dell. 'I was going on to the Smoky. Saves me the ride.'
The parlance of the range wasted few words. 'Ship about the same time,' mused the older boy.
'We figure on day after to-morrow.'
'Same here,' said Joel, turning toward the depot. 'Come on and we'll order three heavy trains. We can double the outfits.'
The cattle came like opposing armies to contend for some vantage-point. Like scouts, the owners and their foremen were well in advance of the herds, and meeting at the bleak station as if by appointment.
'Keep on your own side of the railroad to-morrow,' said Sargent to Dell and Manly, as the quartet mounted their horses to return to their respective camps. 'Sort up your beef, and I'll send a detail of my boys to receive and pen your cattle. Don't let any of that sorry outfit of yours straggle across the track. We have a reputation to protect, and we are particular who we associate with. '
'All right, sonny,' languidly replied Manly. 'You seem to forget that the store is on our side of the town. Better come in after dark.'
The loading out of three trains of cattle was a short half-day's work. Sargent's herd was counted as it left the bed ground at dawn, the mixed stuff cut back, and twenty-seven cars of prime beeves corralled before the sun was an hour high. The drag-end was started for the Arickaree, under a detail of Manly's men, the wagon and remuda following. The latter outfit had camped to the north of the railroad, and once Sargent's beeves were penned, his outfit rode to the assistance of Manly, engaged since sunrise with sorting up the Beaver shipment. That task completed, the two contingents of beef crossed the railroad, and, for fear of engines, lay off in the distance until wanted. The trains arrived from a division to the west, were loaded with promptness, and moved on to their destination, the trains in charge of regular shippers.
The strays were reserved for the last train. The cattle gathered by Inspector Vance were separated and shipped in four cars.
'Did you want a list of these brands?' inquired Manly of Joel, as the gates swung behind the train of strays. I made a list as we cut them out.'
'Let the different inspectors claim their own. We might mail your list to the commission firm, so it could check up the work of the inspectors. My reason for shipping Vance's stuff separate is, he's looking after our interests.'
The outfits relaxed, and the banter of the evening before was resumed.
'Are you going to ask us to dinner?' inquired Manly of Sargent. 'No harm to mention it, as you might overlook it.'
'Not to-day,' frankly answered the latter. 'You boys are handy lads with cattle, but you wouldn't enjoy a dinner at our wagon. My cook is college bred, and he gives French names to dishes that you fellows wouldn't sabe. He comes of a good family, and I don't want to corrupt him by meeting any of this Beaver outfit. I told him, in case any of you came sneaking around, not to give you even a pleasant look. Better drop back to your own side of the town, where the store is, and eat sardines or overtake your own wagon.'
'Now, that's what I call a genial host,' said Manly to his men. 'Come on, boys: let's not insult them by refusing. No cook can bluff me with his wisdom. We'll translate any French into words that the home folks use. And that chef of yours had better set out the sugar or we'll upset the wagon, just to teach him manners. Boys, let's ride; I'm as hungry as a wolf.'
The two outfits ate together. During the limited time the temper of the moment was persiflage, as the crews, once the meal was bolted, must separate on their different ways.
'Well, if you fellows feed as poor as this right along,' said Manly, rising, 'I'll not trouble you soon again. It's a shame to ride a tired horse a mile out of the way to eat with a wagon that don't feed any better than this one. I'm not blaming you, Joel, but I did think that Sargent might have some little pride, some gumption, when given a wagon. Boys, let's saddle up and overtake our outfit. This is the limit!'
A month's hard work still confronted the outfits. Joel took Manly aside.
'Your next trick is to ship the beef on the Arickaree,' said he. 'Take our drag-end through with you. Bear off to the west to-morrow morning, and only touch on the upper end of the Beaver. If any of the outfit want to go into headquarters, they can pick up the wagon before you reach our old isolation camp. That's your course from here to the Arickaree. Dell knows McWilliams, and he'll give you the shipping routes. The idea now is to ship the beef as quickly as possible, double trains to Omaha or any other market.'
'How close will we ship?' inquired the Beaver foreman.
'Every hoof that has the flesh, including barren cows. I want to see how near that Arickaree Ranch will come to paying for itself with this year's shipments. We're going to gather the cattle astray, to an animal. In another month we'll know if we bought a bee course when we took over that cattle company. Now, ship all double-wintered and fat stuff. Those are the orders.'
'Down to the blanket,' agreed Manly, turning to Dell.
The outfits went their ways. Free-handed, Sargent dropped back to the Smoky. His work was brief on that river when the outfit crossed to smaller waters, and finally dropped down to the big bend of the Arkansas, below Dodge City; from thence to the quarantine grounds on the State line, up the valley, occupied with ranches at work, and the task of gathering the strays continued unabated. At the end of the second week, a ten-car shipment was made, and the march of over a hundred miles up the main river to the Colorado line was celebrated near the end of September, by a final shipment of twenty cars. A summary of the cattle adrift from the Arickaree showed two thousand and twenty beeves marketed, with a remnant of over nine hundred remaining.
'Is it time to shout?' inquired the foreman of Joel.
'Almost,' replied the latter.
'But you are willing to admit, at present writing, that we have gathered the Arickaree drift.'
'And then some; over four hundred more than were supposed to be adrift. Old Mac's accounts are tallying out. Of course, it was easier to charge the missing cattle off the books than to gather them. Small wonder the company went broke.'
'Too much theory and not enough cow-sense. That seems to be the weak point in most cattle companies; long on red tape and short on sabe gets them in the end.'
Ten days previous a frost had fallen in the valley. A week later three frosty nights followed, the region affected extending from the mountains down the Arkansas River and halfway across Kansas. Quarantine was lifted, and any through cattle, under contract or sold at Trail City, were moved to their destination. A remnant of nearly three hundred cattle was on hand, wintered and native, and the lifting of quarantine was welcomed by Joel Wells.
'We came within a few days of finishing one job,' said he to his foreman, 'before beginning another. Your next work is to take the Tin Cup herd to the Beaver. Let your outfit cross the river with this drag-end, and we'll throw it in with the Tin Cup twos. When you reach the South Fork of the Republican, you can send this remnant on to the Arickaree by a detail. They're velvet, but we want to send them to their home range.'
Joel and Sargent rode for Trail City. The foreman of the Panhandle cattle was quickly located, and plans for delivery the next morning were completed.
'Of course, you're short-handed,' said the boy to the trail foreman, 'but ride by our outfit and detail half a dozen of our boys and round up your herd. We'll follow within an hour, count this evening, and bed across the river to-night. When those twos leave the bed ground in the morning, you and your outfit are relieved.'
The herd fulfilled its reputation for Panhandle cattle. Sargent was delighted, but Joel, cautious as ever, was reluctant in his praise of the promising herd.
'Nice cattle, thrifty steers,' said he, at parting. 'Your herd will be a trifle big, but graze them along. I'll have to run into the city with this Texas foreman, but will be back in a day or so. You might touch at Cheyenne Wells. I may have some word for you. Yes, touch at The Wells, and ask for a letter or telegram.'
