The Ranch on the Beaver
by Andy Adams
The Home Round-up
The spring work was nearly ended. A day's notice had been served on the Beaver Ranch, but instead of a few men available, no less than sixty were present. They had come from every quarter to meet the annual round-up, some even a long distance, including several wagons from the Republican, as the ending of work in Kansas was the beginning in Nebraska. In those early days the most perfect harmony existed among the different cattle associations.
The round-up found the ranch in waiting. Quinlin had directed the advance work, there being no lack of volunteer help. Evening found every animal grazed into the valley, the extreme ends of the range shortened, so that the cattle would bed along the creek and be easily found in the morning.
'Give me half a dozen men,' said Quinlin to Joel, 'and before ten o'clock. I'll bunch the cattle into three round-ups. One below and two above headquarters will show every hoof. Their condition? Glossy as summer silk. Read the brands as easily as their colors.'
Work was begun shortly after sunrise. Equal to his promise, Quinlin had the cattle quieted down and ready for the arrival of the main body of horsemen. On their arrival, the home men threw out a drag-net, circling to cover half the remaining herd, and holding it fully an hour before again being relieved.
The work was slow. An unusually heavy drift had lodged on the Beaver, cattle from an extreme distance being found, while human depravity was certain to be present. A man might claim cattle on any pretext, and if there was no one to say him nay, his demand or right carried a certain validity. There were hundreds of unknown and unclaimed cattle in every day's gathering, and unless some one set up a claim, just or unjust, the flotsam was left on the range where found. Likewise they were of marked interest to the rustler, who claimed freely, and later moved them to some remote country, and after the brand had undergone a change and the animal a winter, owners were bold in claiming their cattle. The rustler was ever present, some of whom in the present instance had eaten the salt of the brothers; but the temptation to rustle cattle was a human frailty, and men well worthy of a better calling listened to the siren's song. 'Lead us from temptation' was not in their creed.
The home ranch extended every courtesy. In a sense, every one in attendance was a guest of the brothers, and the duty of showing their cattle, holding each round-up and cut separate, rested with the ranch outfit. Such assistance as was volunteered was gratefully received in shaping the herd for inspection and in rendering every possible aid in hastening the work.
As foreman of the ranch, Sargent detailed three of his own men to hold the cut, the others, not on the outside circle, holding the main round-up. Near the end of the first work of the day, some one cut out a roan cow, a gift to Dell in the beginning of their operations, and the boy sensed danger. He knew every animal in the original nucleus by flesh marks, many of them carrying names, and could have pointed them out without brands from a thousand of their fellows. He was alarmed, appealed to his friends on watch, when another cow, carrying the 'hospital brand,' or Two Bars, was cut out as a stray.
'Lay low,' said Hamlet to Dell, 'and spot the man who's cutting out your cows. Mark him, and we'll look if there's wool in his teeth. Certain to be some sheep-killing cur.'
Several others were cut out, by three different men, and when the first round-up was turned loose, no less than a dozen head of home cattle had been claimed. In holding the cut, one of the boys from the Republican, who had worked on the Beaver the fall before, was lending a hand and fell into conversation with Dell, and his men. He knew the home cattle and had spotted the rustlers, and in response to Dell's anxiety, volunteered to make inquiry.
'All I know about them,' said he to the Beaver men, 'is that they are from the Crazy Woman, in Wyoming. They claim to have left their wagon on the Republican, only bringing a pack-horse to the Beaver. There are men here from Wyoming who ought to know them. I'll make inquiry. Keep tab on them.'
'Trust that to us,' said Bob Downs. 'If they get away with a single hoof belonging to this range, I'll never look another cow in the face.'
Unaware of any underhand work, Sargent and Joel joined the home trio, to assist in drifting the cut, then numbering nearly five hundred cattle, to the next round-up above. When the facts were laid before the foreman, he flashed angry, but Hamlet jollied him, and he swung to the other extreme, laughing openly.
'Well, they've got their nerve right with them,' admitted Sargent. 'Brought it along a-purpose, I reckon, to show us something new. Leave it to me, boys. I'll lead them out and let them run on the rope; let them enjoy their brief hour. Come on, Dell, and spot out your friends to me.'
Joel took Dell's trick with the cut at the next round-up, which was in waiting only a few miles above on the Beaver. The first cut of the day was drifted up, causing a short delay, but admitting of ample time to take Manly into confidence, the only object being to locate definitely those engaged in cutting the Two Bar cattle. Meanwhile the lad from the Republican was gleaning chaff, getting such information as he could from cowmen, known ranchmen from Wyoming, in whom reliance could be placed. A comparison of brands, or who a man was, or whom he represented, was entirely too common a question to provoke suspicion. The ends of the range gathered at these annual events, and who's who was on every tongue.
Sargent located his men. Not an advance was made, and only a friendly inquiry, 'if he was finding any of his cattle,' passed between the foreman and the suspects. One of the latter, at the very beginning of the work, cut a Two Bar beef, an animal which had fallen to the brothers when a yearling.
'You are cutting these Two Bar strays?' inquired Sargent affably. 'You'll find quite a drift of them on this range.'
'I had no Idea that our cattle had drifted this far,' replied a blond suspect addressed. 'It simply beats all outdoors how cattle drifted last winter.'
'Same report everywhere,' observed the foreman, entering the round-up with the rustler. 'We're just getting home. Went as far south as the Arkansaw. I'm foreman on this range. There's a Two Bar cow.'
Sargent even assisted in cutting out the animal. 'Trim us up,' said he, at parting. 'This range has never known a clean round-up. There's no money in furnishing grass for these northern strays.'
The rustler took the bait like a bass. He and his partners trimmed the second gathering of the morning, to the last possible hoof of Two Bar cattle. Had a single grain of caution been theirs, the numbers found in the brand would justify an owner or representative at the round-up. But an inordinate greed swayed them, and not content, near the end of the work, they were cutting everything not in the two ranch brands.
'Looks like they were out to claim a-plenty,' remarked Sargent to Manly. 'Claiming a cow is only one move. Making a claim stand up is another story. Right now, those fellows are taking under line, cork, and pole. Aren't they running on the rope nicely? We'll have to watch our saddle horses. And I hear that they've been eating regular with the ranch for a week.'
'Nerve is a rustler's capital,' answered Manly. 'Some one must have given them a tip that all the holdings of this ranch were in the -- Y and Lazy H brands. And they're not a little bit afraid of biting off more than they can chew. When they run to the end of their rope, won't they fall hard!'
Dell and the lad from the Republican rode up. 'They're from the Hole-in-the-Wall country,' said the latter. 'None of these Wyoming cowmen care to say much; don't want to make enemies. All that they care to say is that they'll do to watch.'
'From the Hole-in-the-Wall country,' repeated Sargent, grateful for the information. 'Bad men from Bitter Creek, more than likely. From the upper forks of the creek, where all the bad ones come from, the real, cotton-mouth reptile! I'm beginning to get scared.'
Quinlin showed the holdings on the Beaver in three round-ups. The last was the largest, over three thousand cattle, and requiring fully an hour's work. The strays gathered on the first two circles were not brought up; a new cut was started, as everything would be taken down to headquarters for the final sorting over. The main cut, the gathering of three weeks' work, was under herd, and would also come up for a re-sorting during the afternoon.
While riding together from the second to the last round-up, Sargent took the captain, an old cowman, into his confidence, and asked him to watch the work of this trio of rustlers. He indicated the ones by their horses, their work, their brazen effrontery, and the usual tactics of a cow-thief. He even gave the captain the history of the Two Bar brand; that they originally were strays, dropped from passing trail herds, abandoned cattle, crumbs that fell by the wayside, gifts to orphan boys, who had befriended the wayfaring man and succored his cattle, the sick and the wounded. Also, that the Two Bars was simply a tally-mark and not a token of ownership.
Sargent had asked for shelter, stricken with dengue fever, at the tent of the brothers, and was now their earnest advocate. 'You may be called on to act as referee this afternoon,' continued the ranch foreman to the captain, 'Any man from Texas who claims one of these cows can have her, but no rustler from the upper country can look at her last year's track. Cattle don't drift north, and the presence of these can be accounted for. They came up with trail herds, and that tally mark is known to hundreds of men as the "Hospital Brand." '
'On the last round-up, I'll keep an eye over their work,' agreed the captain. Since our meeting you -- Y boys have proved yourselves, square men. Rustling must be frowned down, stamped out. Every time we have a big winter drift, it produces a new crop of rustlers.'
The work was finished well before noon. The old captain sat his horse midway between the cut and the herd, carefully noting the flow of cattle pouring out of the latter, reading the brands, a friendly word of inquiry with every one, until the work came to an end. Man after man rode out of the herd, saying, 'Turn them loose; I'm through. Start the cut for camp.'
'Wait a few minutes,' was Sargent's request. 'There may be a stray or two left. We want to give every man a fair show. That's what this round-up's for.'
Half the men in attendance started for the wagons. A great clamor was raised about burning time, with none but the three suspects left in the herd, the outfit starting and halting impatiently.
'Give us a minute more time,' said a one-eyed rustler to Sargent. 'Give us a chance! We have cattle here yet!'
'Hold that cut,' ordered the foreman. 'Come on, you -- Y men and lend these boys a hand in getting out their drift. It must not be said that we turned a round-up loose with stray cattle in it, before the very eyes of their owners. Now, point out your cows, and my men will do the rest. Just indicate which ones and we'll cut them out.'
Fully twenty more were cut out. With the rustlers directing the work, every one danced attendance, while two thirds of the cattle claimed belonged in brands which the brothers held written authority to gather, and hence were not molested by others.
'Turn them loose,' finally said a freckle-faced spokesman for the rustlers. 'That's about all.'
'Are you through?' inquired Sargent. 'No trouble at all to hold this round-up a few minutes longer. It's the last one to-day. Trim us down to the last hoof.'
'We're satisfied,' replied the blond rustler. 'We're not gathering very close this spring. Anything that we leave will be picked up by the inspectors of our association, when the cattle go to market. Many thanks for your help.'
'Don't mention it,' bowed the foreman. 'Only too glad to help a neighbor. By the way, where are these brands owned that you boys are gathering?'
'In Wyoming,' answered the one-eyed man.
'That's rather indefinite,' laughed Sargent, 'but it'll do. We're only too glad to get rid of this rabble of strays. If every one gathered as close as you do, we'd have a clean range.'
They turned homeward. A wave of the hand started the cut for camp, and another sent the herd adrift up the valley. The morning work was over. All told, over seventeen hundred cattle had been gathered, and were drifting into headquarters where the wagons were encamped for dinner. Every one was in gala spirits; the spring round-up was over in western Kansas, and the men were eager for home. The Beaver outfit, in particular, were in fine fettle, but managed to drop to the rear for a final conference.
'Sing that good old song, "There's one more river to cross, and that river is Jordan," ' said some one, dismounting at the wagons. A babel of voices replied, 'It's the Republican -- we'll cross it to-morrow! It's the South Fork of the Solomon -- we have crossed it! We won't cross it before July; it's the Niobrara!' Every one was loyal to his own river.
Dinner over, a change of horses, another hour's work, and each one would go his way. Meanwhile, the three contingents of cattle were thrown together in the valley below headquarters, and the final sorting began. Those going southeast joined work and cut out first, were passed upon, and started. All going north would hold together, and there only remained a wave of the hand, on the part of the brothers or their foreman, to start the main herd for the Republican.
There was a distinct pause. 'Are you satisfied with this morning's work?' inquired the old captain of Joel.
'Just a moment,' mildly replied young Wells. 'I want to look at the authority of those boys gathering Two Bar cattle. From Wyoming, I hear. Your papers, please.' Joel nodded to the suspects.
The one addressed smiled. 'Why, I need no authority,' said he. 'I'm gathering my own cattle.'
'Then your name and association will answer as well,' urged the boy, unearthing brand-books covering Wyoming.
The two others jumped their horses into the circle of inquiry. 'We're not members of any association,' continued the first speaker. 'We're free lances.'
'Who's kicking?' inquired the big blond of his partner. 'Who wants to know? Who's questioning our cattle?'
'As one of the owners of this ranch, I am,' answered Joel.
The big blond laughed openly. 'You grasshopper kids make me tired. Expect to show us boys from Wyoming where the creek does really fork! Talk about gall!'
Joel turned to the captain. 'Here are powers of attorney,' said he, handing his authority to the old cowman, 'for our ranch to gather sixty-three outside brands. These free lances have claimed no less than one hundred of these cattle this morning. Here's my authority, and I insist on seeing theirs. I make my appeal to you, as captain and general referee.'
The old cowman looked over the papers. 'I'll look at yours,' said he, addressing the other contestants.
'Well, now, captain,' said the one-eyed stranger, 'you ought to know the general custom governing such matters. I own this Two Bar brand outright, and these other boys are working within their just rights. Because we're a little distance from home is no reason that we're not on the square.'
'The question of authority has been raised,' said the captain, 'and you must show your hand or lay down. I noticed you this morning cutting cattle that Wells Brothers hold authority to gather. There's only one way to clear up the matter: Show your hand.'
'Well, we'll show you Jayhawkers a trick with a hole in it,' said the big blond, easing a six-shooter forward on its belt. 'We'll take these cattle, and you can suck our thumbs.'
'That kind of talk wins nothing,' said the old captain, with decision. 'Every one here must stand four square.'
'Do you dare to intimate that we're rustlers?' insisted the same speaker, jumping his horse to the captain's side.
'He needn't,' said Sargent, taking the blond rustler's horse by the bridle; 'I will for him. And what's more. I'll not intimate a single word. When the time comes to lead your horse out of this round-up. I'll lead him out. It's almost books with you now.'
'You -- You--' stammered the big blond.
'You helped us to cut out these strays. You claimed to be foreman here.'
'Yes, dear. I noticed you were rustlers, and gave you plenty of rope. I knew you'd hang yourself. Shall I lead your horse out and give you directions home?'
'Don't even try it! It might be the last horse you'd ever lead out of a round-up.'
'Now, don't scare any one,' urged the foreman in dulcet tones. 'We've all heard it thunder and it snowed on us last winter. You'd better take your doll rags and go. Consider yourself at liberty to go.'
'Well, of course, on anything that you hold authority to gather, we'll waive our rights,' said the one-eyed man. 'No one contests my right to the Two Bar brand.'
'Not only that brand,' answered Sargent, 'but every hoof of the two hundred or more cattle that you claimed this morning.'
'Show me the man who contests my right to these Two Bar cattle,' insisted the claimant.
'I represent him,' said the foreman, smiling. 'Your claim is bogus, the claim of a common cow-thief.'
'How's that?' chorused the trio. 'Careful now,' cautioned one.
'You fellows are such coarse liars,' continued Sargent. 'Under this day's sun, one of you told me that any cattle that you left on this range, the inspectors of your association would pick up when the beeves were marketed. Now, you're free lances; belong to no cattle organization. Of course you don't. No cow-thief ever does. Your work's too coarse. You talk too much.'
'All of which is easy to say,' observed the one-eyed claimant of the hospital strays. 'Would you mind naming my contestant to this Two Bar brand?'
'I know the history of that brand. You may have noticed that no two cows in it are in the same original ranch brand. We're delaying good people, and I won't honor your claim by discussing it with you. How about it, captain?'
'Trim the herd,' replied the old cowman. 'The claim of these Wyoming men is too weak to pass currency. It doesn't come up to the standard of our association.'
'You decide against us?' protested the freckle-faced rustler. The captain nodded. 'Then I want to serve notice now that I'll bring an outfit this fall and trim this ranch clean for once.'
'I'll be right on the job when you do,' smiled the foreman. 'Come on, boys, and let's retrim this herd. Hold up your cattle and every one lend a hand.'
The ranch outfit led the work. Twenty men followed them, cutting out all Two Bar cattle and gathered strays. Dell and Joel pointed out the original nucleus, known by name, brand, and flesh marks, while willing horsemen cut them adrift. Those from the home ranch, who had been out on the general round-up and were familiar with the brands gathered by proxy, cut the strays to an animal. Over two hundred and fifty head were turned back, the work not requiring to exceed twenty minutes.
Bluffing to the end, the rustlers held the cut, and once the ranch outfit rode out of the main herd, every one was invited to pass on the cattle claimed. Not a man made a protest, except the rustlers.
'Of course, you've got your round-up behind you,' whined the one-eyed man, 'but I own the bulk of these cattle.'
'Point out a single cow,' urged Sargent.
'That red "Acorn" cow,' replied the man, deeply grieved.
'On the Acorn, or on the Two Bars?'
'On the Acorn.'
'You couldn't have her if she had acorns on both sides. That Two Bar brand will hold her for the present. Now, just because you can't steal a single cow, don't cry, don't bleed to death.'
'You might bleed to death yet,' insisted the big blond. 'You might have to smell powder, at short range, over these cattle yet.'
'Show me how straight you can shoot,' tauntingly replied the foreman. 'Take a shot at me now.'
There was no reply. Vance, inspector for the Texas Panhandle, relieved the tensity of the moment by addressing Joel. 'I might lay a valid claim on several of these Two Bar cows,' said he, 'but since I know the history of the brand. I'll advise their owners and you boys can buy them.'
'By all means,' answered Joel. 'We'll buy the cows.'
'By the way,' continued the Texas inspector, addressing the one-eyed rustler, 'haven't I met you before, on the spring round-up, in Colorado, two years ago?'
'No such recollection,' he replied, covering his defective eye.
'My memory for brands and faces has fed and clothed me for years past. I remember you well. We had a tilt over some strays once. From the Hole-in-the-Wall country, aren't you?'
Without reply, the man turned and rode away. One by one the other two made excuses, the gathering relaxed, when one of the men from the Republican shouted orders to start the herd.
'And be sure and take these Wyoming rustlers with you,' added Sargent. 'Otherwise, we'll have to night-herd our horses.'
'When we elect a captain to-morrow night,' replied an old cowman from the Republican, 'those fellows will have to show a clean bill of health or hit the trail.'
Hails and farewells were shouted. Every one went his way. Vance, alone, was left at the Wells Ranch.
'That's what gets me,' said he, as the Beaver outfit turned toward headquarters. 'Those fellows are experts on brands. Why they want to rustle, when they might hold good jobs, is a horse on me. I never owned a cow in my life, and I'm welcome anywhere a wagon's camped. Look at those fellows, sneaking away like sheep-killing dogs. I don't understand them.'
'They're too smart for common cowhands,' said Manly, 'and haven't sense enough to hold good jobs. Look how those fellows dug a pit and fell into it today. I never saw a cow-thief in my life that had horse-sense. They simply have no sabe.'
