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Page 82
The cow-puncher of Texas and Arizona wears chaps of leather or
sheepskin to protect his legs from the mesquit-bushes or the
thorns of the cactus. These plants not being found in the
northern plains, chaps are not worn there. The cowboy wears a
handkerchief about the neck, not for protection from the sun, but
to cover the mouth while riding through sand and windstorms.
Flankers ride on each side of the herd at regular intervals. The
chuck-wagon and the spare horses follow far enough in the rear to
avoid the dust.
For the first few days the drives are long and hard, averaging
from twenty-five to thirty miles a day, until the cattle are well
tired. Then the pace is set at twelve to fifteen miles.
From dawn until noon the herd is allowed to water and graze along
the trail toward their destination. About noon they become
restive. The cowboys then drive them steadily forward for eight
or ten miles, until early evening, when they are halted for
another graze. As night falls they are turned into the bedding
grounds. The men ride slowly around the herd, crowding them into
a compact mass. As the circle lessens the beasts lie down to
rest and chew their cuds.
About midnight the cattle usually get up, stand a while, and then
lie down again, having changed sides. The night-guard slowly
circles the herd, the men relieving each other at stated
intervals.
On rainy, stormy nights, the guard has to double, as the cattle
are restless and easily stampeded. Under a clear sky, breathing
the bracing air of the plains, with the herd well in hand, the
day's work is a pleasant one. But in a steady downpour, with the
thunder rolling and the animals full of fear, the task is one to
tax the stoutest heart.
The cause of a stampede is always some trifle. A heavy clap of
thunder, a flash of lightning, the breaking of a stick, the howl
of a wolf, will start the herd off in a blind rush in any
direction, heedless of cliffs over which they may tumble, or of
rivers whose current will sweep hundreds of the frightened beasts
to death.
Once the cattle are off on a stampede, the cowboys ride
recklessly, madly to the head of the herd, getting to one side of
the leaders. With shouts and pistol-shots they turn the leaders
to one side, gradually at first, and then into the arc of a great
circle. Blindly racing after the leaders the other cattle
follow; and round they plunge until head and tail of the herd
meet, and "milling" begins. Any that fall are ground to death by
the hoofs of the others. This mighty grind continues until the
animals are exhausted or they have recovered from the fight.
To soothe the hysterical beasts, the men begin to sing. Any song
will do, but the drawling old hymn tunes of the Methodist
camp-meetings have the best effect. Ofttimes the more hysterical
members of the herd are shot, as a stampede means a great loss.
Animals that stampede once are prone to do it again. The
mingling of herds increases the danger. In old days the approach
of a herd of buffalo was sure to start a stampede among cattle.
Men were detailed to turn the shaggy monsters aside whenever they
came within hearing.
Rivers are crossed by one of the cow-punchers swimming his horse
in the lead and the other men driving the animals after him.
Once near the shipping-point, the herd is allowed to rest up and
fatten, while the owner makes his deal with the cattle-buyers of
Omaha or Chicago.
The animals are driven or decoyed into the cars, and the last
journey, to the packing-house, begins. Punchers accompany them
to feed and water the beasts on the trip. They help turn them
into the pens. One night in Chicago, one meal, a dinner ending
with a "Lillian Russell" (peaches or apple pie covered with
ice-cream) as dessert, and the punchers start West again to begin
anew the work of the fall roundup, which is on a smaller scale
than the spring one.
It is dawn in the valley of the Sweetwater. The spring rains
have freshened the verdure of the plain. Clumps of coarse grass
fringe the river's brink. Cacti and Spanish bayonets nod in the
morning breeze, which sweeps down from the mountains. Yucca
palms and sahuaroes glisten with the dew. In the distance rise
the foot-hills crowned with stunted live-oaks. On the horizon
tower the mountains, pine-clad to the timber-line, bare and
desolate above.
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