VI
"Then there was a star danc'd, and under that was I born." --_Much Ado About Nothing._
Cole Ralston rose up in a red windy dawn; he cupped his hands to hismouth and called out lustily: "Beds!"
All around, men roused up in the half darkness and took up the word,laughing, as they dressed: "Beds! Beds!"
The call meant that the wagon was to be moved to-day; that each manwas to roll bedding and tarp to a hard and tight-roped cylinder, andwas then to carry it to a stack by the bed wagon.
The cook bent over pots and pans, an active demon by a wind-blownfire; here already the bobtail ate their private breakfast, that theymight depart in haste to relieve the last guard--now slowly moving theherd from the bed ground, half a mile away.
Cole moved over where Johnny Dines was making up his bed roll.
"Needn't hurry with that bed, Johnny," he said in an undertone. "Youmove the wagon to Preisser Lake this mornin'. Besides, you may want tohold something out of your bed. You're to slip away after dinner andedge over towards Hillsboro. Help Hiram bring his cattle back when hegets ready. Tell him we'll be round Aleman all this week, so he mightbetter come back through MacCleod's Pass. I don't know within fiftymile where the John Cross wagon is."
Johnny nodded, abandoning his bed making. "_Bueno, senor!_" He took apair of leather chaparejos from the bed, regarded them doubtfully andthrew them back.
"Guess I won't take the chaps. Don't need them much except on theriver work, in the mesquite; and they're so cussed, all-fired hot."
"Say, John, you won't need your mount, I reckon. Just take one horse.Lot of our runaway horses in the John Cross pasture. You can ridethem--and take your pick for your mount when you come back. That'sall. Road from Upham goes straight west through the mountains. Onceyou pass the summit you see your own country."
"Got you," said Johnny.
He went hotfoot to the wagon, grabbed a tin washbasin, held it underthe water-barrel faucet and made a spluttering toilet--first man,since he had not rolled his bed.
The bobtail rode off at a laughing gallop. Daylight grew. The horseherd drew near with a soft drumming of trotting feet in the sand.Johnny rustled tools from the stacked tin plates and cups; he stabbeda mighty beefsteak with his iron fork; he added hot sour-doughbiscuit, a big spoonful of hot canned corn; he poured himself a cup ofhot black coffee, sat down on one of his own feet in the sand, andbecame a busy man.
Others joined that business. The last guard came in; the chatteringcircle round the fire grew with surprising swiftness. Each, as hefinished, carried cup, plate and iron cutlery to the huge dishpan bythe chuck box, turned his night horse loose, and strode off to thehorse herd, making a noose in his rope. They made a circle round thebig horse herd, a rope from each to each by way of a corral on threesides of it; night wrangler and day wrangler, mounted, holding downthe fourth side. Grumbling dayherders caught their horses, saddledwith miraculous swiftness and departed to take over the herd. Thebobtail was back before the roping out of horses was completed. Whilethe bobtail roped out their horses, Johnny and the two wranglers luredout the four big brown mules for the chuck wagon and the two smallbrown mules for the bed wagon, tied them to convenient soapweeds andhung a nose bag full of corn on each willing brown head. Last of allthe horse wrangler caught his horse. The night wrangler was to ridethe bed wagon, so he needed no horse.
The circle of men melted away from about the horse herd; there was aswift saddling, with occasional tumult of a bucking rebel; the horseherd grazed quietly away; the wranglers went to breakfast; even asthey squatted cross-legged by the fire the last horse was saddled,the Bar Cross outfit was off to eastward to begin the day's drive,half a dozen horses pitching enthusiastically, cheered by ironicalencouragement and advice bestowed on their riders. The sun would notbe up for half an hour yet. Forty men had dressed, rolled their beds,eaten, roped out their day's horses in the half light from a dodgingmob of four hundred head, saddled and started. Fifty minutes hadpassed since the first call of beds. The day herd was a mile away,grazing down the long road to Preisser Lake; at the chuck box the cookmade a prodigious clatter of dish washing.
The Bar Cross had shipped the north drive of steers from Engle; thewagon had then wandered southward for sixty miles to Fort Selden,there to begin the south work in a series of long zigzags across thebroad plain. This was the morrow after that day on which Charlie Seehad ridden to Garfield.
The wagon was halfway home to Engle now; camped on the centralrun-off of the desert drainage system, at the northmost of thechain of shallow wet-weather lakes--known as Red Lakes--lying eastand south from Point of Rocks Hills. Elsewhere these had beenconsiderable hills; ten or fifteen miles square of steepish sugarloaves, semi-independent, with wide straits of grassy plain windingbetween; but here, dumped down in the center of the plain, they seemedpathetically insignificant and paltry against the background of mightyhill, Timber Mountain black in the west, San Andreas gleamingmonstrous against the rising sun.
Theoretically, the Jornada was fifty miles wide here; in reality itwas much wider; in seeming it was twice as wide. From Red Lakes asa center you looked up an interminable dazzle of slope to the SanAndreas, up and up over a broken bench country to Timber Mountain, theblack base of it high above the level of Point o' Rocks at its highestsummit; and toward the north looked up and up and up again along asmoother and gentler slope ending in a blank nothingness, againstwhich the eye strained vainly.
Johnny sipped another cup of coffee with the wranglers; he smoked acigarette; he put on fresh clothing from his bed; he took his gun fromhis bed and buckled the belt loosely at his waist. His toiletcompleted, he rolled his bed. By this time the wranglers hadbreakfasted.
They piled the bed rolls high on the bed wagon and roped them tightfor safe riding; they harnessed and hitched the two small mules. Thenight wrangler tied the reins to the dashboard and climbed to the topof the stacked bedding.
"You see that these mules get started, will you, Pat? I'm going tosleep. They'll tag along after the chuck wagon if you'll start 'emonce," said the night wrangler. Discipline did not allow the nightwrangler a name. He stretched out luxuriously, his broad hat over hisface.
Johnny and Pat--Pat was the horse wrangler--hitched the four mules tothe chuck wagon, after which Pat rounded up his scattered charges anddrove them down to the lake for water.
All this time the red-head cook had been stowing away hishousekeeping, exactly three times as fast as you would expect threemen to do it. A good cook, a clean cook, swiftest of all cooks,Enriquez--also despot and holy terror as a side line. Henry was thehuman hangnail. It is a curious thing that all round-up cooks arecranks; a fact which favors reflection. If it be found that cookingand ferocity stand in the relation of cause to effect, a new light isthrown on an old question.
The last Dutch oven was stowed away, the lid of the chuck box snappedshut and locked. Johnny tossed the few remaining beds up to the cook.
"Do we fill the barrel here, Henry?"
"No. Dees water muddy. Preisser Lake she am deep and clean. De companyees buil' a dam dere, yes. Han' me dees lines. You Mag! Jake! Rattleyo' hocks!"
With creaking of harness and groaning of axle, the chuck wagon led offon a grass-grown road winding away to the northwest, a faint trackused only by the round-up; travel kept to the old Santa Fe trail, tothe west, beyond the railroad. Johnny started the other team.Unguided, the bed wagon jounced and bumped over grassy hummocks untilit reached the old road and turned in contentedly at the tail of thechuck wagon. The sleeping wrangler mumbled, rolled precariously on hishigh lurching bed, and settled back to sleep.
Johnny laughed and rode ahead to help Pat. They drove the horses in awide detour round the slow-grazing day herd. But the chuck wagon heldthe right of way over everything; when it came to pass the herd anhour or two later, it would be for the herd to swerve aside.
The sun was high and hot now; Preisser Hill, a thin long shadow, rosedim above the plain
; Upham tower and tank loomed high and spectral,ahead and at the left.
"How do I get from Upham to the river, Pat? I'm new to this country."
"Wagon road due west to MacCleod's Pass."
"Can't see any pass from here."
"Naw. You slip into fold between the hills, and twist round like afigure three. Then you come to a big open park and MacCleod's Tank.Three draws run down from the park to the river. 'Pache canyon, thebiggest, runs north to nowhere; Redgate, on the left, twists round toGarfield. Wagon road goes down Redgate. And Deadman Draw, in between,bears due west and heap down, short and sweet. Riding?"
"Yep. Hillsboro. The middle draw will be the one for me, then."
By ten o'clock they watered the horse herd at Preisser Lake; thewagons toiled far behind. Half a mile away they picked the camp site,with a little ridge for wind-break, soapweeds to tie night horses to,wood handy, and a nearby valley to be a bed ground for the herd; avalley wide, open, free from brush, gully or dog holes.
They dragged up a great pile of mesquite roots and built a fire; Patwent to watch his horses and Johnny returned to the lake. Henry drovethe wagon into the lake, hub deep; Johnny stood on the hub and dippedbuckets of water, which he handed up for the cook to pour into thebarrel.
While these two filled the barrel the grumbling night wrangler droveon to the fire; when the slow chuck wagon trundled up, the night-hawkhad unharnessed his span of mules, spread his roll in the cool shadeunder the bed wagon, and was already asleep. The cook tossed down theodd beds, handed down to Johnny certain pots, pans, ovens; he jumpeddown--slap, snap, clatter, flash!--the ovens were on the fire, thechuck box open, flour in the bread pan; Henry was at his profession,mixing bread on the table made by the open lid of the chuck box,upheld by a hinged leg which fell into place as the lid tilted down.
Johnny unharnessed; he unrolled a tarp which wrapped a quarter ofbeef, and hung the beef on the big brake; he filled the ten-galloncoffee kettle and took it to the fire.
"Henry," he said cautiously, "can you let me have some cold bread andmeat--enough for night and morning? I'm for Hillsboro. Goin' to make adry camp beyond the river somewhere. Hillsboro's too far and Garfieldnot far enough. So I don't want to stay at the settlements to-night.I'll lay out and stake my horse, I reckon. Got to find the John Crosswagon to-morrow, and it'll take me all my time--so I don't want towait for dinner."
"Humph!" With a single motion Henry flirted a shovelful of glowingcoals from the fire; a second motion twisted a small meat oven intoplace over those coals. A big spoonful of lard followed. "Rustle a canand boil you some coffee. Open can tomatoes; pour 'em in a plate. Usecan. Ground coffee in box--top shelf. I'll have bread done for youwhen coffee boils!"
While he spoke his hands were busy. He dragged from the chuck box adishpan full of steaks, cut the night before. With a brisk slap hespread a mighty steak on the chuck box lid, sprinkled it with salt,swept it through the flour in his bread pan with precisely thewrist-twisting motion of a man stropping a razor, and spread thesteak in the hissing lard.
"Cook you another bimeby for night," he grunted, and emptied hissour-dough sponge into the bread pan. A snappy cook, Henry; onoccasion he had built dinner for thirty men in thirty minutes, by thewatch, from the time the wagon stopped--bread, coffee, steak and friedpotatoes--steak and potatoes made ready for cooking the night before,of course. Henry had not known he was being timed, either; he wasthat kind of a cook.
Johnny gave thanks and ate; he rolled a substantial lunch in a cleanflour sack and tied it in his slicker behind the saddle. He rode tothe horse herd; Pat rounded up the horses and Johnny snared hisTwilight horse for the trip. Twilight was a _grullo_; that is tosay, he was precisely the color of a Maltese cat--a sleek velvetslaty-blue; a graceful, half-wild creature, dainty muzzled, cleanlegged as a deer. Pat held Twilight by bit and bridle and madesoothing statements to him while Johnny saddled. Johnny slid intothe saddle, there was a brief hair-stirring session of bucking; thenTwilight sneezed cheerfully and set off on a businesslike trot. Johnnywaved good-by, and turned across the gray plain toward Upham. Lookingback, he saw the van of the day herd just showing up, a blur in thesoutheast.
Six miles brought him to Upham--side track, section house, lowstation, windmill tower and tank; there was a deep well here. Hecrossed the old white scar of the Santa Fe trail, broad, deep worn,little used and half forgotten. A new and narrow road turned here atright angles to the old trail and led ruler-straight to the west.Johnny followed this climbing road, riding softly; bands of cattlestirred uneasily and made off to left or right in frantic run orshuffling trot. The road curved once only, close to the hills, toround the head of a rock-walled, deep, narrow gash, square andstraight and sheer, reaching away toward Rincon, paralleling thecourse of the mountains. No soft water-washed curves marked that grimgash; here the earth crust had cracked and fallen apart; for twentymiles that gray crack made an impassable barrier; between here and thebare low hills was a No Man's Land.
Midway of the twisting pass Johnny came to a gate in a drift fencestrung from bluff to bluff; here was a frontier of the Bar Crosscountry. He passed the outpost hills and came out to a rolling openpark, a big square corral of cedar pickets, an earthen dam, a deepfive-acre tank of water. About this tank two or three hundred head ofcattle basked comfortably in the warm sun, most of them lying down.They were gentle cattle; Johnny rode slowly among them withoutstirring up excitement. "River cattle--nester cattle," said Johnny.There were many brands, few of which he had seen before, though he hadheard of most of them.
A fresh bunch of cattle topped a riverward ridge; the leaders raisedtheir heads, snorted, turned and fled; Twilight leaped in pursuit."River cattle--_bosque_ cattle--outlaws!" said Johnny. From the tailof his eye, as Twilight thundered across the valley, Johnny was awareof a deep gashed canyon heading in the north, of a notch in the westernrim of the saucer-shaped basin, and a dark pass at the left. Thecattle turned to the left. Johnny closed in on them, taking down hisrope from the saddle horn. Twenty head--among them one Bar Cross cowwith an unbranded calf some eight or ten months old. Johnny's noosewhirled open, he drove the spurs home and plunged into a whistlingwind. He drew close, he made his cast and missed it; Twilight swervedaside at the very instant of the throw, the rope dragged at his legs,he fell to frantic pitching. Johnny gathered up the rope, massaged hisrefractory mount with it, brought him to reason; in time to see a dustcloud of cattle drop into the leftward pass. Twilight flashed after.As they dived into the pass they came to the wagon road again.
"This is Redgate," thought Johnny.
They careened down the steep curves, the cattle were just ahead;Twilight swooped upon them, scattered the tailenders, drove ahead forthe Bar Cross cow and her long-ear. A low saddleback pass appeared atthe right, a winding trail led up to an overhanging promontory underthe pass; below, the wagon road made a deep cut by the base of thehill. Distrusting the cut road as the work of man, the leaders took tothe trail. Twilight was at their heels; at the crown of the littlepromontory Johnny threw again, and his rope circled the long-ear'sneck. Johnny flipped the slack, the yearling crossed it and fellcrashing; Johnny leaped off and ran down the rope, loosing the hoggingstring at his waist as he ran; he gathered the yearling's strugglingfeet and hog-tied them. Twilight looked on, panting but complacent.
"Look proud, now do, you ridiculous old fool!" said Johnny. "Ain't younever goin' to learn no sense a-tall? You old skeezicks! You've lost ashoe, too."
He coiled his rope and tied it to the saddle horn; from under the hornon the other side he took a running iron, held there by a slittedleather--an iron rod three-eighths of an inch in diameter, a foot longand shaped like a shepherd's crook. He gathered up dead branches ofmahogany bush and made a small fire, cunningly built for a quickdraft, close beside the yearling; he thrust the hook part of thebranding iron into the hottest fire; and while it was heating hereturned to give grave reprimand and instruction to Twilight. Thatculprit listened attentively, bright-eyed and watchful; managin
g insome way to bear himself so as to suggest a man who looks over the topof his spectacles while rubbing his chin with a thoughtful thumb. Whenthe iron was hot Johnny proceeded to put the Bar Cross brand on theprotesting yearling. Looking up, he became aware of a man ridingsoberly down the canyon toward him. Johnny waved his hand and shovedhis iron into the fire for a second heating.
The newcomer rode up the trail and halted; a big red-headed man with abig square face and twinkling eyes. He fished for tobacco and rolled acigarette.
"Thought I knew all the Bar Cross waddies. You haven't been wearin'the crop and split very long, have you?"
"They just heard of me lately," explained Johnny.
"I know that Twilight horse of yours. Saw him last spring at theround-up. Purty as a picture, ain't he?"
"Humph! Pretty is as pretty does." Johnny returned to his branding."He made me miss my throw, and now I'm in the wrong canyon. I aimed totake the draw north of here, for Hillsboro."
The newcomer leaned on his saddle horn.
"Deadman? Well, you could cross over through this pass if you wasright set on it. But it's a mean place on the far side--slick, smoothrock. You might as well go on by way of Garfield now. You won't losebut a mile or two, and you'll have fine company--me. Or--say, ifyou're going that way, why can't you mail a letter for me? Then Iwon't have to go at all. I'd be much obliged to you if you would. Thatwas all I was going for, to mail some location notices."
"Sure I will. I kind of want to see Garfield anyhow. Never been there.Crop and split the right. So that's done. I'll keep this piece of earfor tally."
The other took a large envelope from his saddle pockets and handed itover. Dines stuck it in the bosom of his flannel shirt.
"I ain't got no stamps. This letter'll need two, I guess. Here's thenickel. Will you please kindly stick 'em on for me?"
"Sure," said Dines again. He undid the yearling's legs. "Now, youngfellow, go find your mammy. Go a-snuffin'!"
The yearling scrambled to his feet, bellowing. Johnny jerked him roundby the tail so that his nose pointed down the canyon; the newcomerjumped his horse and shook a stirrup and slapped his thigh with hishat; the yearling departed.
"Well, I'll be getting on back to camp," said the newcomer. "So long!Much obliged to you."
"So long!" said Johnny.
He waved his hand. The other waved answer as he took the trail. Hejogged in leisurely fashion up the canyon. Dines paused to tread outthe remaining fire, took up his branding iron by the cool end, androde whistling down the canyon, swinging the iron to cool it before heslipped it to its appointed place below his saddle horn.