CHAPTER XV
THE BEAVER
After leaving the country tributary to the Solomon River, we crossed awide tableland for nearly a hundred miles, and with the exception ofthe Kansas Pacific Railroad, without a landmark worthy of a name.Western Kansas was then classified, worthily too, as belonging to theGreat American Desert, and most of the country for the last fivehundred miles of our course was entitled to a similar description.Once the freshness of spring had passed, the plain took on her naturalsunburnt color, and day after day, as far as the eye could reach, themonotony was unbroken, save by the variations of the mirages on everyhand. Except at morning and evening, we were never out of sight ofthese optical illusions, sometimes miles away, and then again closeup, when an antelope standing half a mile distant looked as tall as agiraffe. Frequently the lead of the herd would be in eclipse fromthese illusions, when to the men in the rear the horsemen and cattlein the lead would appear like giants in an old fairy story. If themonotony of the sea can be charged with dulling men's sensibilitiesuntil they become pirates, surely this desolate, arid plain might beequally charged with the wrongdoing of not a few of our craft.
On crossing the railroad at Grinnell, our foreman received a letterfrom Lovell, directing him to go to Culbertson, Nebraska, and theremeet a man who was buying horses for a Montana ranch. Our employer hadhis business eye open for a possible purchaser for our _remuda_, andif the horses could be sold for delivery after the herd had reachedits destination, the opportunity was not to be overlooked.Accordingly, on reaching Beaver Creek, where we encamped, Flood leftus to ride through to the Republican River during the night. The trailcrossed this river about twenty miles west of Culbertson, and if theMontana horse buyer were yet there, it would be no trouble to come upto the trail crossing and look at our horses.
So after supper, and while we were catching up our night horses, Floodsaid to us, "Now, boys, I'm going to leave the outfit and herd underJoe Stallings as _segundo_. It's hardly necessary to leave you underany one as foreman, for you all know your places. But some one must bemade responsible, and one bad boss will do less harm than half a dozenthat mightn't agree. So you can put Honeyman on guard in your place atnight, Joe, if you don't want to stand your own watch. Now behaveyourselves, and when I meet you on the Republican, I'll bring out abox of cigars and have it charged up as axle grease when we getsupplies at Ogalalla. And don't sit up all night telling foolstories."
"Now, that's what I call a good cow boss," said Joe Stallings, as ourforeman rode away in the twilight; "besides, he used passable goodjudgment in selecting a _segundo_. Now, Honeyman, you heard what hesaid. Billy dear, I won't rob you of this chance to stand a guard.McCann, have you got on your next list of supplies any jam and jellyfor Sundays? You have? That's right, son--that saves you from standinga guard tonight. Officer, when you come off guard at 3.30 in themorning, build the cook up a good fire. Let me see; yes, and I'lldetail young Tom Quirk and The Rebel to grease the wagon and harnessyour mules before starting in the morning. I want to impress it onyour mind, McCann, that I can appreciate a thoughtful cook. What'sthat, Honeyman? No, indeed, you can't ride my night horse. Love me,love my dog; my horse shares this snap. Now, I don't want to be underthe necessity of speaking to any of you first guard, but flop intoyour saddles ready to take the herd. My turnip says it's eight o'clocknow."
"Why, you've missed your calling--you'd make a fine second mate on ariver steamboat, driving niggers," called back Quince Forrest, as thefirst guard rode away.
When our guard returned, Officer intentionally walked acrossStallings's bed, and catching his spur in the tarpaulin, fell heavilyacross our _segundo_.
"Excuse me," said John, rising, "but I was just nosing around lookingfor the foreman. Oh, it's you, is it? I just wanted to ask if 4.30wouldn't be plenty early to build up the fire. Wood's a little scarce,but I'll burn the prairies if you say so. That's all I wanted to know;you may lay down now and go to sleep."
Our camp-fire that night was a good one, and in the absence of Flood,no one felt like going to bed until drowsiness compelled us. So welounged around the fire smoking the hours away, and in spite of theadmonition of our foreman, told stories far into the night. During theearly portion of the evening, dog stories occupied the boards. As theevening wore on, the subject of revisiting the old States came up fordiscussion.
"You all talk about going back to the old States," said Joe Stallings,"but I don't take very friendly to the idea. I felt that way once andwent home to Tennessee; but I want to tell you that after you live afew years in the sunny Southwest and get onto her ways, you can'tstand it back there like you think you can. Now, when I went back, andI reckon my relations will average up pretty well,--fought in theConfederate army, vote the Democratic ticket, and belong to theMethodist church,--they all seemed to be rapidly getting locoed. Why,my uncles, when they think of planting the old buck field or thewidow's acre into any crop, they first go projecting around in thesoil, and, as they say, analyze it, to see what kind of a fertilizerit will require to produce the best results. Back there if one manraises ten acres of corn and his neighbor raises twelve, the oneraising twelve is sure to look upon the other as though he lackedenterprise or had modest ambitions. Now, up around that old cow town,Abilene, Kansas, it's a common sight to see the cornfields stretch outlike an ocean.
"And then their stock--they are all locoed about that. Why, I knowpeople who will pay a hundred dollars for siring a colt, and ifthere's one drop of mongrel blood in that sire's veins for tengenerations back on either side of his ancestral tree, it condemnshim, though he may be a good horse otherwise. They are strong onstandard bred horses; but as for me, my mount is all right. I wouldn'ttrade with any man in this outfit, without it would be Flood, andthere's none of them standard bred either. Why, shucks! if you had thepick of all the standard bred horses in Tennessee, you couldn't handlea herd of cattle like ours with them, without carrying a commissarywith you to feed them. No; they would never fit here--it takes arange-raised horse to run cattle; one that can rustle and live ongrass."
STORY TELLING]
"Another thing about those people back in those old States: Not one inten, I'll gamble, knows the teacher he sends his children to schoolto. But when he has a promising colt to be shod, the owner goes to theblacksmith shop himself, and he and the smith will sit on the backsill of the shop, and they will discuss how to shoe that filly so asto give her certain knee action which she seems to need. Probably,says one, a little weight on her toe would give her reach. And therethey will sit and powwow and make medicine for an hour or two. Andwhile the blacksmith is shoeing her, the owner will tell him inconfidence what a wonderful burst of speed she developed yesterday,while he was speeding her on the back stretch. And then just as heturned her into the home stretch, she threw a shoe and he had to checkher in; but if there'd been any one to catch her time, he was certainit was better than a two-ten clip. And that same colt, you couldn'tcut a lame cow out of the shade of a tree on her. A man backthere--he's rich, too, though his father made it--gave a thousanddollars for a pair of dogs before they were born. The terms were onehalf cash and the balance when they were old enough to ship to him.And for fear they were not the proper mustard, he had that dog man suehim in court for the balance, so as to make him prove the pedigree.Now Bob, there, thinks that old hound of his is the real stuff, but hewouldn't do now; almost every year the style changes in dogs back inthe old States. One year maybe it's a little white dog with red eyes,and the very next it's a long bench-legged, black dog with a Dutchname that right now I disremember. Common old pot hounds and everydayyellow dogs have gone out of style entirely. No, you can all go backthat want to, but as long as I can hold a job with Lovell and Flood,I'll try and worry along in my own way."
On finishing his little yarn, Stallings arose, saying, "I must take alisten to my men on herd. It always frets me for fear my men will ridetoo near the cattle."
A minute later he called us, and when several of us walked out towhere he was list
ening, we recognized Roundtree's voice, singing:--
"Little black bull came down the hillside, Down the hillside, down the hillside, Little black bull came down the hillside, Long time ago."
"Whenever my men sing that song on guard, it tells me that everythingis amply serene," remarked our _segundo_, with the air of afield-marshal, as we walked back to the fire.
The evening had passed so rapidly it was now almost time for thesecond guard to be called, and when the lateness of the hour wasannounced, we skurried to our blankets like rabbits to their warrens.The second guard usually got an hour or two of sleep before beingcalled, but in the absence of our regular foreman, the mice wouldplay. When our guard was called at one o'clock, as usual, Officerdelayed us several minutes looking for his spurs, and I took thechance to ask The Rebel why it was that he never wore spurs.
"It's because I'm superstitious, son," he answered. "I own a fine pairof silver-plated spurs that have a history, and if you're ever atLovell's ranch I'll show them to you. They were given to me by amortally wounded Federal officer the day the battle of LookoutMountain was fought. I was an orderly, carrying dispatches, and inpassing through a wood from which the Union army had been recentlydriven, this officer was sitting at the root of a tree, fatallywounded. He motioned me to him, and when I dismounted, he said,'Johnny Reb, please give a dying man a drink.' I gave him my canteen,and after drinking from it he continued, 'I want you to have my spurs.Take them off. Listen to their history: as you have taken them off meto-day, so I took them off a Mexican general the day the American armyentered the capital of Mexico.'"