Boy With the U. S. Foresters

  CHAPTER IV

  PICKING A LIVELY BRONCHO

  On seeing the ranch, Bob-Cat and Wilbur had put their ponies to a burstof speed and in a few minutes they reached the corral. The buildings,while comfortable enough, were far from pretentious, and even theirstrangeness scarcely made up to the boy for the lack of the picturesque.Then, of course, the fact that the cattle at that time of year werescattered all over the range and consequently that none of them were insight, rendered it still less like his ideal of a cattle ranch, where hehad half expected to see thousands of long-horned cattle tossing theirheads the while that cowboys galloped around them shouting and firingoff pistols.

  In contrast with this, the dwelling, the bunk-house, the cooking shack,and the other frame sheds, all of the neutral gray that unpainted woodbecomes when exposed to the weather, seemed very unexciting indeed. Butwhen the lad turned to the corral, he felt that there was compensationthere. Several hundred horses were in the enclosure, of many colors andbreeds, but the greater part of them Indian ponies, or containing astrain of the mustang, and smaller and shaggier than the horses he hadbeen accustomed to ride in his Illinois home.

  The boy turned to his companion, his eyes shining with excitement.

  "Do you suppose that I can buy any of those horses that I want to?" hesaid.

  "If you're totin' along a pile of dinero, you might," was the reply,"but there's a few cayuses in there that would surely redooce a big rollo' bills to pretty skinny pickin's. For example, this little bay I'mridin' now ain't any special wonder, an' maybe he's only worth aboutfifty dollars, but you can't buy him for five hundred. I reckon, though,you c'n trot away with most of 'em in there for ninety or a hundreddollars apiece."

  "I hadn't expected to pay more than seventy or seventy-five," saidWilbur, his native shrewdness coming to the front, "and I think I oughtto be able to pick up a good horse or two for that, don't you think?"

  "There's allers somethin' that ain't worth much to be got cheap," saidthe cowboy, "but I don't look friendly none on payin' a cheap price fora horse. Speakin' generally, there's somethin' that every feller likes awhole lot, an' out here, where domestic life ain't our chief play, it'smostly a horse. Leastways, when I hit the long trail, I'll be just assorry to leave some ponies behind as I will humans."

  "A horse can be a great chum," assented Wilbur. "So can a dog."

  "No dogs in mine," said Bob-Cat emphatically, "they reminds me too mucho' sheep. But when it comes to a horse, I tell ye, there's a lot more inthe deal than buyin' an animal to carry you; there's buyin' somethin'that all the money in the world can't bring you sometimes--an' that's afriend."

  Wilbur waited a moment without reply, and then the cowboy, deliberatelychanging the topic to cloak any strain of sentiment which he thought hemight have been betrayed into showing, continued:

  "How about saddles?"

  "I'd been thinking about that," replied the boy, "and I thought I'd waituntil I got out here before deciding. You can't use an Englishsaddle-tree, of course, and I hate it anyway, and one like yours is toobig. Those lumbering Mexican saddles always look to me as if they wereas big a load for a little pony to carry as a man."

  "Sure, they're heavy. But you can't do any ropin' without them. If youtry 'n' rope on a small saddle the girth'll pretty near cut a pony intwo. But you ain't got any ropin' to do, so I sh'd think an armysaddle-tree would be about right. There's Rifle-Eye Bill comin' out ofthe bunk-house now. Ask him. He'll know."

  Wilbur looked up, and saw emerging from the door of the bunk-house atall, gaunt mountaineer. He strolled over to the corral with a long,loose-jointed stride.

  "Got him, all right, Bob-Cat, did you?" he said in a measured drawl,then, turning to the boy, added: "Glad to see you, son."

  "I've been hearing all about you, sir," answered Wilbur, "and I'mawfully glad to meet you here." He was about to dismount, but notingthat Bob-Cat had merely thrown a leg over the horn of his saddle, hestayed where he was.

  The old Ranger looked him over critically and closely, so that Wilburfelt himself flushing under the direct gaze, though he met the cleargray eye of his new acquaintance without flinching. Presently thelatter turned to the range-rider.

  "What do you think of him?" he asked in a slow, curiously commandingway.

  Bob-Cat squirmed uneasily.

  "You is sure annoyin'," he said in an aggrieved manner, "askin' me to goon record so plumb sudden. I'm no mind-reader."

  There was a pause, but the Ranger quietly waited.

  "It's embarrassin'," said Bob-Cat, "to try an' trot out a verdic' onsnap-jedgment. I don't know."

  Rifle-Eye, quite unperturbed, looked at him steadily and inquiringly.

  "You know what you think," he said.

  "He's sure green," replied the cowboy, shrugging his shoulders inprotest, "an' he ain't much more humble-minded than a hen that's jestlaid an egg of unusooal size, but I reckon he's got the makin's."

  "It's a good thing to be green," said the old Ranger thoughtfully,"nothin' grows much after it's dry, Bob-Cat. The heart's got to be greenanyway. Ye git hard to bend an' easy to break when ye're gettin' old."

  "Then it's a cinch you'll never get old," promptly responded the other.

  But the mountaineer continued talking, half to himself:

  "An' he's too sure of himself! Wa'al, he's young yet. I've seen a pileo' sickness in my day, Bob-Cat, but that's about the easiest one to curethere is."

  "What is?"

  "Bein' young. Well, son, ye'd better turn the pony in."

  The boy dismounted, and, half in pique at the dubious character givenhim by Bob-Cat and half in thanks for the meeting at the station and theride, he turned to the cowboy, and said:

  "I'm glad I've 'got the makings' anyway, and I'm much obliged, Bob-Cat,for all the yarns you told me on the trail. But, next time I come to theranch I'll try not to be as green, and I know I'll not be as young."

  The cowboy laughed.

  "It's no use tryin' to dodge Rifle-Eye," he said. "You stand about asgood a chance as if you was tryin' to sidestep a blizzard or parryin'the charge from a Gatlin' gun. If he asks a question you can gambleevery chip in your pile that you're elected, and you've got to ante upwith the answer whether it suits your hand or no."

  Wilbur, following the suggestion of the Ranger, unsaddled his pony,turned him into the corral, and hung his saddle on the fence. Thentogether they went up to the house, where Wilbur met the boss, and aftera few moments' chat they returned to the corral.

  As the lad had come to the ranch especially for the purpose of buying acouple of ponies, he was anxious to transact the business as quickly aspossible, and together with Bob-Cat and Rifle-Eye he scanned the horsesin the enclosure, endeavoring to display, as he did so, what littleknowledge of horseflesh he possessed. After the boy had commented onseveral, Rifle-Eye pointed out first one and then a second which he hadpreviously decided on as being the best animals for the boy. ButWilbur's eye was attracted to a fine sorrel, and, turning to Rifle-Eye,he said decidedly:

  "I want that one!"

  The old Ranger, remarking quietly that it was a fine horse, but notsuitable to the purpose for which Wilbur wanted the animal, passed on tothe discussion of several other ponies near by, teaching the boy todiscern the fine points of a horse, not for beauty, but for service.

  But as soon as he had finished speaking, after a purely perfunctoryassent, Wilbur burst out again:

  "But, Rifle-Eye, I really want that sorrel most."

  "You really think you want him?"

  "Yes!"

  "You wouldn't if you knew a little more about horses, son," said theRanger. "It's all right to be sure what you want, but what you want isto be sure that what you want is right."

  "Oh, I'm sure I'm right," answered the boy confidently.

  "You can't be too careful choosin' a horse," commented Rifle-Eye."Choosin' a horse is a good deal like pickin' out a sugar pine forshakes. You know what shakes are?"

  "No, Rifle-Eye," answered the boy
.

  "They're long, smooth, split sheets of wood that the old-timers used forshingles. There's lots of sugar pine that'll make the finest kind o'lumber, an' all of it's good for fuel, but there ain't one tree in ahundred that'll split naturally an' easily into shakes. An' there ain'tmore'n one man in a hundred as can tell when a tree will do. But whenyou do get one just right, it's worth any ten other trees. An' the pinethat's good ain't because it's a pretty tree to look at, or an easy oneto cut down, or because of any other reason than that the grain's right.Same way with a horse. It ain't for his looks, nor for his speed, norbecause he's easy to ride, nor for his strength you want him, butbecause his grain's right."

  "Well, I'm sure that sorrel looks just right."

  "Do looks always tell?"

  "Oh, I can always tell a horse by his looks," replied Wilbur boastfully."Anyhow, I want him."

  "Persistent?" chuckled Bob-Cat, who was standing by enjoying every word,"why, cockle-burs ain't nothin' to him."

  "But, supposin'," the old scout began gently, "I told you that thesorrel was the worst you could have, not the best?"

  "But he ain't," broke in Bob-Cat, who could not bear to hear a friend'spony harshly criticised, "that's one of Bluey's string, an' he allershad good horses."

  "There--you hear," said Wilbur triumphantly.

  "I said--for the boy, Bob-Cat," answered the old Ranger firmly.

  "I--I suppose you would have good reasons," said Wilbur, answering theold scout's question, "but I want him just the same, and I don't see whyI can't buy him, if he's for sale. It's my money!"

  "Sure, it's your money. An' the sorrel's a good horse," said the cowboy,to whom the persistence of Wilbur was giving great delight.

  The Ranger slowly turned his head in silent rebuke, but although Bob-Catwas conscious of it, he was enjoying the fun too much to stop.

  "You know he couldn't ride the sorrel, Bob-Cat," said Rifle-Eyereproachfully.

  "But I can ride him, I know," said Wilbur. "I'm a good rider, really Iam. And he looks gentle, besides. He is gentle, isn't he, Bob-Cat?"

  "He's playful enough," was the reply, "some like a kitten, an' he surelyis plenty restless in his habits. But where he shines is nerves. Why,pard, he c'd make a parcel of females besieged by a mouse look as ifthey was posin' for a picter, they'd be so still by comparison. But he'sgentle, all right."

  "I wouldn't want to try it if he was vicious, Rifle-Eye," said the boyappealingly, "but I really can ride, and he looks like a good horse."

  "Are you buyin' this horse for your own pleasure or the work o' theService? You're goin' to do your ridin' on my range, an' I reckon you'lladmit I have some say."

  "But I can break him to the work of the Service. Do let me try him!"Wilbur's persistence appeared in every look and word. "I don't see why Ican't try, anyway, and then if I can't do it, there's no harm done."

  "Can you throw a rope?" queried the Ranger.

  "No," returned the boy promptly. "I never learned. But I can try."

  "If you can't rope, how do you expect to saddle him? These ain't farmhorses that you c'n harness or saddle while they eat oats out of yourhand." He turned to the cowboy. "Can the sorrel be saddled withoutropin'?"

  "Bluey does," was the reply, "but I don't know that he'll let me."

  "Won't you saddle him for me, Bob-Cat? I know I can ride him if I have afair show."

  The range-rider turned to the old Ranger.

  "How about it?" he said. "The kid'll hunt leather for a while and theneat grass. But there's nothin' mean in the sorrel, an' he won't gethurt."

  "I'll ride him," said Wilbur stoutly.

  "You might, at that," rejoined Bob-Cat. "He's a game little sport,Rifle-Eye," he added, turning to the tall figure beside him, "why notlet him play his hand out? You can't be dead sure how the spots willfall. Sure, I've twice seen an Eastern maverick driftin' into a farogame, an' by fools' luck cleanin' up the bank."

  "If a man's a fool who depends on luck, what kind of a fool is the manwho depends on fools' luck? You ain't playin' a square deal, Bob-Cat, insupportin' the lad to go on askin' to do what ain't good for him. Butseein' you force my hand, why, you'd better go ahead now."

  "I didn't force your hand none," replied the other, "I was merelythrowin' out a suggestion."

  "If I refuse the boy somethin' another man says is all right, doesn'tthat make it look as ef it was meanness in me? An' he goin' to work withme, too! What's the use o' sayin' that you ain't forcin' my hand? Givin'advice, Bob-Cat, ain't any go-as-you-please proposition; it's got to bethought out. Feelin's don't allers point the right trail to jedgment,an', as often as not, the blazes lead the wrong way. You're all rightin your own way, Bob-Cat, but you're shy on roots, and your idees gets awindfall every time an extra puff comes along. You're like the treessettlers forgets about when they cuts on the outside of a forest an'ruins the inside."

  "How is that?" asked Wilbur, anxious to divert the stream of Rifle-Eye'scriticism from the cowboy, who had got himself into trouble defendinghim. "I didn't know there was any difference between a tree on theoutside of a forest and one on the inside."

  "Wa'al, then, I guess you're due to learn right now. If there's a treeof any size, standin' out by itself on a mountain side, with plenty ofleaves, an' a big wind comes along, you c'n see easy enough that shepresents a heap of surface to the wind. An' when a mountain gale gets upand blows fer fair, there's a pressure of air on that tree amountin' toseveral tons."

  "Tons?" queried Bob-Cat incredulously.

  "Tons," answered the old Banger. "A tree needs to have some strength inorder to hold up its end. There's three ways o' doin' it. One is byhavin' a lot more give in the fibers, more elastic like, so that thetree'll bend in the wind an' not get snapped off; another is by puttin'out a lot o' roots an' shovin' 'em in deep an' at the same time havin' atrunk that's plenty stout; an' the third is the thickenin' o' the trunk,right near the ground, where the greatest part o' the strain comes. An'all the various kinds o' trees works this out in different ways. Butnothin's ever wasted, an'--"

  "Oh, I see now," broke in Wilbur. "You're going to say that the treeswhich don't grow on the outside of a forest don't have to waste vitalityinto these forms of resistance."

  "That's right. A tree that grows in a ravine, where there is littlechance of a high wind, an' where light is scarce an' hard to get, such atree will have a shallow root system an' a spindlin' trunk, all thegrowth havin' gone to height, an' a tree in the center of a forest isoften the same way. The wind can't git through the forest, an' so thetrees don't need ter prop themselves against it."

  "Talk about yer eddicated trees!" ejaculated the cowboy, "which collegesis a fool to them."

  "It's true enough, Bob-Cat, just the same. But supposin' a belt on theoutside o' the forest is cut down, then the inner trees, thus exposed,haven't any proper weapons to fight the wind, an' they go down."

  "Doesn't it take a very high wind to blow down some of these big trees?"asked Wilbur.

  "Some kinds it does," said the Ranger, "but there's others that go downpretty easy, lodge-pole pine, fer instance. But a tree doesn't have tobe blown down to be ruined. Even if a branch is blown off--an' you knowhow often that happens--insects and fungi get into the wound of the treeand decay follows."

  "But you can't persuade the wind none," objected Bob-Cat. "If she'sgoin' to blow, she's goin' to blow, an' that's all there is to it."

  "No, it ain't any use arguin' with a fifty-mile breeze, that's sure. Butyou can keep the inside trees from bein' blown down by leavin' uncut thedeep-rooted trees on the outside. If you wanted a good big bit oftimber, an' could cut it from a tree on the outside o' the forest, you'dtake it first because it was handiest, wouldn't you?"

  "I sure would."

  "Yet, you see, it would ha' been the worst thing you could do. An' as Istarted out to say, that's where you get in wrong doin' things withoutthinkin'. Just like this ridin' idee to-day. By urgin' on the lad'snateral desire you make it hard fer him an' fer me."

/>   "All right, Rifle-Eye," said Bob-Cat good-humoredly, "you've got me. Ireckon I passes up this hand entire." He nodded and began to strollaway.

  But Wilbur called him back.

  "Oh, Bob-Cat," he cried, "aren't you going to saddle him for me now?"

  The cowboy turned and grinned.

  "Which you'd make tar an' feathers look sick for stickin' to a thing."Then, reading a grudging assent from Rifle-Eye, he continued: "Yep, I'llgo an' saddle," and sauntered into the corral.

  In a few minutes he came back, leading the sorrel. He was saddled andBob-Cat had shortened up the stirrups. Wilbur jumped forward eagerly,put his foot in the stirrup, and was up like a flash. The sorrel nevermoved. The boy shook the reins a little and clucked his tongue againsthis teeth without any apparent result. Then Wilbur dug his heels intothe pony's ribs.

  Things began to happen. The sorrel went straight up in the air with allfour feet, coming down with the legs stiff, giving Wilbur a jar whichset every nerve twitching as though he had got an electric shock. Buthe kept his seat. Then the sorrel began pacing forward softly with anoccasional sudden buck, each of which nearly threw him off and at mostof which he had to "hunt leather," or in other words, catch hold of thesaddle with his hands. Still he kept his seat.

  Finding that these simpler methods did not avail, the sorrel began alittle more aggressive bucking, fore and aft, "sun-fishing" and"weaving," and once or twice rearing up so straight that Wilbur wasafraid the sorrel would fall over backwards on him, and he had heard ofriders being killed that way. But he stole a glance at Rifle-Eye, and,seeing that the old Ranger was looking on quite unperturbed, he realizedthat there was no great danger. And still he kept his seat.

  But as the sorrel warmed up to his work the boy began to realize that hehad not the faintest chance of being able to wear the pony down. It wasnow only a question of how long he could stick on. He knew he would bedone if the sorrel started to roll, but as yet the beast had shown noinclination that way. But as the bucks grew quicker and more jerky,Wilbur began to wonder within himself whether he would prefer to pitchover the pony's head or slide off over his tail. Suddenly, with a bound,the pony went up in the air and gave a double wriggle as he came downand Wilbur found himself on the ground before he knew what had happened.The sorrel, who, as Bob-Cat had said, was a gentle beast, stood quietlyby, and the boy always afterwards declared that he could hear the horsechuckle.

  The boy got up abashed and red in the face, because several otherranchmen had come up and were enjoying his confusion, but he tried toput a good face on it, and said:

  "That's a bucker for fair."

  "No," responded Bob-Cat, "that isn't bucking," and he swung himself intothe saddle.

  The sorrel commenced plunging and rearing again, this time with greatervigor. But Bob-Cat, taking a little bag of tobacco and some cigarettepapers out of his pocket, quietly poured out some of the tobacco on thepaper, rolled it carefully, and then lighted it, keeping his seat on thebucking broncho quite easily the while. This done, he dismounted,turning to the boy as he did so.

  "She's easy enough. There's lots o' the boys, like Bluey, fer example,who really can ride," he continued, "that 'd just split with laughin'at the idee o' me showin' off in the saddle. I c'n rope with the best o'them, but I'm no buster. And some o' these here critters you've got toride. See that big roan in there?"

  Wilbur followed the direction of his finger and nodded.

  "They call her 'Squealin' Bess,' an' you couldn't pay me to get on herback. Bluey c'n ride her; he's done it twice; but you c'n bet your lastblue chip that he doesn't do it fer fun."

  Wilbur turned to the old Ranger who had been standing silently bythrough the performance.

  "I'm much obliged, Rifle-Eye," he said, "but I'd like to buy that sorreljust the same and learn to ride him."

  For the first time the old Ranger smiled.

  "You're somethin' like a crab, Wilbur," he said, "that grabs a stickviciously with his claw an' won't let go even when he's hauled up out o'the water. You c'n buy the sorrel if you want to, but he won't be anyuse to you up in the forest. Broncho-bustin' is an amusement you c'nkeep for your leisure hours. But I'm thinkin', son, from what I know ofthe work you'll have to do, that you'll mostly be tired enough after aday's work to want to rest a while. But if you're sot, I s'pose you'resot. An' I'm old enough to know that it's no use hammerin' a mule whenhe's got his forelegs spread. Get whatever horses you like, I've got asaddle for you up at the bunk-house, an' you c'n meet me beyond thecorral sunup to-morrow mornin'."

  He nodded to the boys and turned on his heel, walking off in thedirection of the river. Seeing that the fun was over the boys scattered,and Wilbur, finding that his friend Bob-Cat was going to stay at theranch over-night, attached himself to him. But as soon as supper wasover, the lad, finding himself stiffer than he had expected from hisbattle with the sorrel, partly because he had not been riding constantlyfor a couple of years, was glad to go to his bunk, listening to thebreezy Western talk of the men and the yarns of cattle and of horsesthat they had to tell. He hardly knew that he had fallen asleep whenBob-Cat shook him, saying:

  "Better tumble up, bub. Rifle-Eye is sure an early bird. He's somechanticleer, believe me. He's plumb convinced that if he ain't awake andup to greet the sun, it won't rise."

  Wilbur laughed and "tumbled up" accordingly.

  At breakfast, over the plentiful food served on tin plates and in tinmugs, Rifle-Eye was entirely silent, uttering never a word and paying noattention to any allusion about horses. Right after the meal Wilbur wentdown to the corral, saddled one of his two new horses, put a leadingbridle on the other, and, after bidding Bob-Cat and the boys "Good-by,"started for the point where he was to meet the Ranger.

  As he rode up, the old frontiersman scanned carefully the two horses theboy had with him and his face cleared.

  "What horses are those?" he asked.

  "Oh, just a couple I got for the forest work," answered Wilbur withoverdone carelessness.

  They rode on in silence a few rods, then the old Ranger spoke again.

  "Don't ever be afraid o' lettin' on you've made a mistake, son," hesaid; "the more mistakes you make the more you'll know. There's only onething to remember, don't make the same mistake twice."

  "I'll try not," said the boy.

  The Ranger reined up beside the lad, and, reaching out his long, gaunthand, patted the neck of the pony on which Wilbur was riding.

  "They're half-sisters, those two," he said. "I raised 'em from coltsmyself. I rode the mother over these very trails, many and many's thetime. This one is called Kit, after her."

  Wilbur flushed at the remembrance of the manner in which before he hadslighted the old scout's choice.

  "Oh, Rifle-Eye," he said penitently, "if I'd only known!"

  "You'll prize them more now," the Ranger said.

  COWBOYS AT THE ROUND-UP.

  The riders of the Double Bar J Ranch bunching up their cattle in theNational Forest.

  _Photograph by U. S. Forest Service._]