CHAPTER XI
HOLDING THE FORT
The valley lay in the grasp of winter. On the hills and sunny slopes,the range was slowly opening to the sun. The creek, under cover of iceand snow, forced its way, only yielding to axes for the time being andclosing over when not in use.
The cattle required no herding. The chief concern of the brothers was toopen more grazing ground, and to that end every energy was bent. Therange already opened lay to the north of the Beaver, and although doublethe distance, an effort was made to break out a trail to the divide onthe south. The herd was turned up the lane for the day, and taking theirflails, the boys began an attack on the sleet. It was no easy task, asit was fully two miles to the divide, a northern slope, and not affectedby the sun before high noon.
The flails rang out merrily. From time to time the horses were broughtforward, their weight shattering the broken sleet and assisting inbreaking out a pathway. The trail was beaten ten feet in width on anaverage, and by early noon the divide was reached. Several thousandacres lay bare, and by breaking out all drifts and depressions runningnorth and south across the watershed, new grazing grounds could beadded daily.
A discovery was made on the return trip. The horses had been broughtalong to ride home on, but in testing the sleet on the divide, the sunhad softened the crust until it would break under the weight of eitherof the boys. By walking well outside the trail, the sleet crushed to theextent of five or six feet, and by leading their horses, the pathway waseasily doubled in width. Often the crust cracked to an unknown distance,easing from the frost, which the boys accepted as the forerunner ofthawing weather.
"We'll put out poison to-night," said Dell. "It will hardly freeze ashoal, and I've found one below the corral."
"I'm just as anxious as you to put out the bait," replied Joel, "but wemust take no chances of making our work sure. The moment the cattle quitdrinking, the water holes freeze over. This is regular oldBilly Winter."
"I'll show you the ripple and leave it to you," argued the younger boy."Under this crust of sleet and snow, running water won't freeze."
"Along about sunset we can tell more about the weather for to-night,"said Joel, with a finality which disposed of the matter for the present.
On reaching the corral, the older boy was delighted with the splendidtrail broken out, but Dell rode in search of a known shallow in thecreek. An old wood road crossed on the pebbly shoal, and forcing hishorse to feel his way through the softened crust, a riplet was unearthedas it purled from under an earthen bank.
"Here's your running water," shouted Dell, dropping the reins andallowing Dog-toe to drink. "Here you are--come and see for yourself."
Joel was delighted with Dell's discovery. In fact, the water, afteremerging from under a concave bank, within a few feet passed underanother arch, its motion preventing freezing.
"Don't dismount," said Joel, emphasizing caution, "but let the horsesbreak a narrow trail across the water. This is perfect. We'll buildanother fire to-night, and lay a half dozen baits around thisopen water."
The pelt of the dead wolf was taken, when the boys cantered in home.Time was barely allowed to bolt a meal, when the loading of the woodentroughs was begun. Every caution urged was observed; the basins werehandled with a hay fork, sledded to the scene, and dropped fromhorseback, untouched by a human hand. To make sure that the poison wouldbe found, a rope was noosed to the carcass and a scented trace was madefrom every quarter, converging at the open water and tempting baits.
"There," said Dell, on completing the spoor, "if that doesn't get awolf, then our work wasn't cunningly done."
"Now, don't forget to throw that carcass back on the ledge, under thecomb," added Joel. "Wolves have a reputation of licking each other'sbones, and we must deny them everything eatable except poisoned suet."
The herd would not return of its own accord, and must be brought in tothe corral. As the boys neared the divide and came in sight of thecattle, they presented a state of alarm. The presence of wolves was atonce suspected, and dashing up at a free gallop, the lads arrived intime to save the life of a young steer. The animal had grazed beyond thelimits of the herd, unconscious of the presence of a lurking band ofwolves, until attacked by the hungry pack. Nothing but the energetic useof his horns saved his life, as he dared not run for fear of beingdragged down, and could only stand and fight.
The first glimpse of the situation brought the boys to the steer'srescue. Shaking out their horses, with a shout and clatter of hoofs,they bore down on the struggle, when the wolves suddenly forsook theirvictim and slunk away. The band numbered eight by easy count, as theyhalted within two hundred yards and lay down, lolling their tongues asif they expected to return and renew the attack.
"Did you ever hear of anything like this?" exclaimed Dell, as thebrothers reined in their horses to a halt. "Attacking in broaddaylight!"
"They're starving," replied Joel. "This sleet makes it impossible to getfood elsewhere. One of us must stay with the cattle hereafter."
"Well, we saved a steer and got a wolf to-day," boastfully said Dell."That's not a bad beginning."
"Yes, but it's the end I dread. If this weather lasts a month longer,some of these cattle will feed the wolves."
There was prophecy in Joel's remark. The rescued animal was turned intothe herd and the cattle started homeward. At a distance, the wolvesfollowed, peeping over the divide as the herd turned down the pathwayleading to the corral. Fuel had been sledded up, and after attending tothe details of water and fire, the boys hurried home.
The weather was a constant topic. It became the first concern of themorning and the last observation of the night. The slightest change wasnoticeable and its portent dreaded. Following the blizzard, everymoderation of the temperature brought more snow or sleet. Unless ageneral thaw came to the relief of the cattle, any change in the weatherwas undesirable.
A sleepless night followed. It was later than usual when the boysreplenished the fire and left the corral. Dell's imagination covered thelimits of all possibilities. He counted the victims of the poison forthe night, estimated the number of wolves tributary to the Beaver,counted his bales of peltry, and awoke with a start. Day was breaking,the horses were already fed, and he was impatient for saddles and away.
"How many do you say?" insisted Dell, as they left the stable.
"One," answered Joel.
"Oh, we surely got seven out of those eight."
"There were only six baits. You had better scale down your estimate.Leave a few for luck."
Nothing but the cold facts could shake Dell's count of the chickens.Joel intentionally delayed the start, loitering between house andcorral, and when no longer able to restrain his impulsive brother,together they reached the scene. Dell's heart failed him--not a deadwolf lay in sight. Every bait had been disturbed. Some of the troughshad been gnawed to splinters, every trace of the poisoned suet had beenlicked out of the auger holes, while the snow was littered withwolf tracks.
"Our cunning must be at fault," remarked Joel, as he surveyed the sceneand empty basins.
Dell looked beaten. "My idea is that we had too few baits for the numberof visitors. See the fur, where they fought over the tallow. That's it;there wasn't enough suet to leave a good taste in each one's mouth. Fromthe looks of the ground, there might have been fifty wolves."
The boy reasoned well. Experience is a great school. The brothers awoketo the fact that in the best laid plans of mice and men the unforeseenis ever present. Their sponsors could only lay down the general rule,and the exceptions threw no foreshadows. No one could foresee that thegrip of winter would concentrate and bring down on the little herd thehungry, roving wolf packs.
"Take out the herd to-day," said Dell, "and let me break out morerunning water. I'll take these basins in and refill them, make new ones,and to-night we'll put out fifty baits."
The cattle were pointed up the new trail to the southern divide. Joeltook the herd, and Dell searched the creek for other shallows tributar
yto the corral. Three more were found within easy distance, when thetroughs were gathered with fork and sled, and taken home to be refilled.It was Dell Wells's busy day. Cunning and caution were his helpers;slighting nothing, ever crafty on the side of safety, he cut, bored, andcharred new basins, to double the original number. After loading, forfear of any human taint, he dipped the troughs in water and laid them inthe shade to freeze. A second trip with the sled was required totransport the basins up to the corral, the day's work being barelyfinished in time for him to assist in penning the herd.
"How many baits have you?" was Joel's hail.
"Sixty odd."
"You'll need them. Three separate wolf packs lay in sight all theafternoon. Several times they crept up within one hundred yards of thecattle. One band numbered upwards of twenty."
"Let them come," defiantly said Dell. "The banquet is spread.Everything's done, except to drag the carcass, and I didn't want to dothat until after the cattle were corraled."
The last detail of the day was to build a little fire, which would dieout within an hour after darkness. It would allow the cattle time to beddown and the packs to gather. As usual, it was not the intention of theboys to return, and as they mounted their horses to leave, all thewelled-up savage in Dell seemed to burst forth.
"Welcome, Mr. Wolf, welcome," said he, with mimic sarcasm and a gesturewhich swept the plain. "I've worked like a dog all day and the feast isready. Mrs. Wolf, will you have a hackberry plate, or do you prefer thescent of cottonwood? You'll find the tender, juicy kidney suet in theash platters. Each table seats sixteen, with fresh water right at hand.Now, have pallets and enjoy yourselves. Make a night of it. Eat, drink,and be merry, for to-morrow your pelts are mine."
"Don't count your chickens too soon," urged Joel.
"To-morrow you're mine!" repeated Dell, ignoring all advice. "I'llcarpet the dug-out with your hides, or sell them to a tin peddler."
"You counted before they were hatched this morning," admonished hisbrother. "You're only entitled to one guess."
"Unless they got enough to sicken them last night," answered Dell withemphasis, "nothing short of range count will satisfy me."
A night of conjecture brought a morning with results. Breakfast wasforgotten, saddles were dispensed with, while the horses, as theycovered the mile at a gallop, seemed to catch the frenzy of expectation.Dell led the way, ignoring all counsel, until Dog-toe, on rounding acurve, shied at a dead wolf in the trail, almost unhorsing his rider.
"There's one!" shouted Dell, as he regained his poise. "I'll point themout and you count. There's another! There's two more!"
It was a ghastly revel. Like sheaves in a harvest field, dead wolves layaround every open water. Some barely turned from the creek and fell,others struggled for a moment, while a few blindly wandered away forshort distances. The poison had worked to a nicety; when the victimswere collected, by actual count they numbered twenty-eight. It was avictory to justify shouting, but the gruesome sight awed the brothersinto silence. Hunger had driven the enemy to their own death, and thetriumph of the moment at least touched one sensitive heart.
"This is more than we bargained for," remarked Joel in a subdued voice,after surveying the ravages of poison.
"Our task is to hold these cattle," replied Dell. "We're soldiering thiswinter, and our one duty is to hold the fort. What would Mr. Paul say ifwe let the wolves kill our cattle?"
After breakfast Joel again led the herd south for the day, leaving Dellat the corral. An examination of the basins was made, revealing the factthat every trace of the poisoned suet had been licked out of theholders. Of a necessity, no truce with the wolf became the slogan of thepresent campaign. No mushy sentiment was admissible--the fighting wasnot over, and the powder must be kept dry. The troughs were accordinglysledded into the corral, where any taint from the cattle would furtherdisarm suspicion, and left for future use.
The taking of so many pelts looked like an impossible task for a boy.But Dell recalled, among the many experiences with which Forrest, when acripple, regaled his nurses, was the skinning of winter-killed cattlewith a team. The same principle applied in pelting a wolf, where by verylittle aid of a knife, about the head and legs, a horse could do thework of a dozen men. The corral fence afforded the ready snubbing-post,Dog-toe could pull his own weight on a rope from a saddle pommel, andtheory, when reduced to the practical, is a welcome auxiliary. The headonce bared, the carcass was snubbed to the centre gate post, when agentle pull from a saddle horse, aided by a few strokes of a knife, asecond pull, and the pelt was perfectly taken. It required steadymounting and dismounting, a gentle, easy pull, a few inches or a foot,and with the patience of a butcher's son, Dog-toe earned his corn andhis master a bale of peltry.
Evening brought report of further annoyance of wolves. New packs hadevidently joined forces with the remnants of the day before, as therewas neither reduction in numbers nor lessening in approach or attitude.
"Ours are the only cattle between the Republican River in Nebraska andthe Smoky River in this State," said Joel, in explanation. "Rabbits andother rodents are at home under this sleet, and what is there to liveon but stock? You have to hold the cattle under the closest possibleherd to avoid attack."
"That will made the fighting all the better," gloatingly declared Dell."Dog-toe and I are in the fur business. Let the wolves lick the bones oftheir brethren to-night, and to-morrow I'll spread another banquet."
The few days' moderation in the weather brought a heavy snowfall thatnight. Fortunately the herd had enjoyed two days' grazing, but everyadditional storm had a tendency to weaken the cattle, until it appearedan open question whether they would fall a prey to the wolves or succumbto the elements. A week of cruel winter followed the local storm, duringwhich three head of cattle, cripples which had not fully recuperated, inthe daily march to the divides fell in the struggle for sustenance andfed the wintry scavengers. It was a repetition of the age-old strugglefor existence--the clash between the forces of good and evil, with thewolf in the ascendant.
The first night which would admit of open water, thirty-one wolves fellin the grip of poison. It was give and take thereafter, not an eye foran eye, but in a ratio of ten to one. The dug-out looked like atrapper's cave, carpeted with peltry, while every trace of sentimentfor the enemy, in the wintry trial which followed, died out in thehearts of the boys.
Week after week passed, with the elements allied with the wolves againstthe life of the herd. On the other hand, a sleepless vigilance andsullen resolve on the part of the besieged, aided by fire and poison,alone held the fighting line. To see their cattle fall to feed thewolves, helpless to relieve, was a bitter cup to the struggling boys.
A single incident broke the monotony of the daily grind. One morningnear the end of the fifth week, when the boys rode to the corral at anearly hour, in order to learn the result of poison, a light kill ofwolves lay in sight around the open water. While they were attempting tomake a rough count of the dead from horseback, a wolf, supposed to bepoisoned, sprang fully six feet into the air, snapping left and rightbefore falling to the ground. Nothing but the agility of Rowdy savedhimself or rider, who was nearly unhorsed, from being maimed or killedfrom the vicious, instant assault.
The brothers withdrew to a point of safety. Joel was blanched to thecolor of the snow, his horse trembled in every muscle, but Dell shookout his rope.
"Hold on," urged Joel, gasping for breath. "Hold on. That's a mad wolf,or else it's dying."
"He's poisoned," replied Dell. "See how he lays his head back on hisflank. It's the griping of the poison. Half of them die in just thatposition. I'm going to rope and drag him to death."
But the crunching of the horse's feet in the snow aroused the victim,and he again sprang wildly upward, snapping as before, and revealingfangs that bespoke danger. Struggling to its feet, the wolf ranaimlessly in a circle, gradually enlarging until it struck a strand ofwire in the corral fence, the rebound of which threw the animal flat,when it again curled it
s head backward and lay quiet.
"Rope it," said Joel firmly, shaking out his own lasso. "If it gets intothat corral it will kill a dozen cattle. That I've got a live horseunder me this minute is because that wolf missed Rowdy's neck by ahand-breadth."
The trampled condition of the snow around the corral favored approach.Dell made a long but perfect throw, the wolf springing as the ropesettled, closing with one foot through the loop. The rope was cautiouslywrapped to the pommel, could be freed in an instant, and whirlingDog-toe, his rider reined the horse out over the lane leading to theherd's feeding ground to the south. The first quarter of a mile was anindistinct blur, out of which a horse might be seen, then a boy, or awolf arose on wings and soared for an instant. Suddenly the horsedoubled back over the lane, and as his rider shot past Joel, a fire ofrequests was vaguely heard, regarding "a noose that had settled foul,"of "a rope that was being gnawed" and a general inability to stranglea wolf.
Joel saw the situation in an instant. The rope had tightened around thewolf's chest, leaving its breathing unaffected, while a few effectualsnaps of those terrible teeth would sever any lasso. Shaking out a loopin his own rope, as Dell circled back over the other trail, Rowdycarried his rider within easy casting distance, the lasso hissed throughthe air, settled true, when two cow-horses threw their weight againsteach other, and the wolf's neck was broken as easily as a rotten thread.
"A little of this goes a long way with me," said Joel from the safety ofhis saddle.
"Oh, it's fine practice," protested Dell, as he dismounted and kickedthe dead wolf. "Did you notice my throw? If it was an inch, it wasthirty feet!"
In its severity, the winter of 1885-86 stands alone in range cattlehistory. It came rather early, but proved to be the pivotal trial in thelives of Dell and Joel Wells. Six weeks, plus three days, after theworst blizzard in the history of the range industry, the siege waslifted and the Beaver valley groaned in her gladness. Sleet cracks ranfor miles, every pool in the creek threw off its icy gorge, and theplain again smiled within her own limits. Had the brothers been thoroughplainsmen, they could have foretold the coming thaw, as three daysbefore its harbingers reached them every lurking wolf, not from fear ofpoison, but instinctive of open country elsewhere, forsook the Beaver,not to return the remainder of the winter.
"That's another time you counted the chickens too soon," said Joel tohis brother, when the usual number of baits failed to bring down a wolf.
"Very good," replied Dell. "The way accounts stand, we lost twelvecattle against one hundred and eighteen pelts taken. I'll play that gameall winter."