CHAPTER XVII
DRIFTING
The next night Jack, Vicente and Tulare Joe went out on night herd forthe second relief. It was very dark, the sky was pitchy black and thewind blew now and then in swift gusts.
"It's a mean night," Joe said as they rode along, "and I wouldn't besurprised if we had trouble with the cattle."
"It sure looks as if it were going to storm," Jack agreed; "and nobodycan tell just what that will mean."
When they reached the herd, the men whom they were to relieve declaredthat so far the cattle were all right, but feared that the threateningstorm would start them moving. Some of them decided that they wouldstay with the cattle until the storm broke, or passed over. "It'sgoing to storm," they said, "and there's no use in going back to campand getting into our blankets, only to be called out again in a fewminutes." There was thus a double guard, and the men followed eachother at shorter intervals than usual, singing, talking and calling, inthe effort to give the cattle, which as yet were quiet, the confidencewhich so often seems to come from the proximity of a human being.
Presently it began to rain a little, and the wind blew harder, andin fierce gusts, with lulls between them. During such lulls, the windcould be heard coming far off, and in the blasts of wind the men tothe windward of the cattle could not hear the sounds made by those toleeward.
By this time the cattle had begun to rise to their feet and to walkabout, bawling. Then some of them, singly or by twos and threes,started out from the main bunch to walk away to leeward, only to beturned back by the men who came across them. Then, little by little,the whole bunch began to move along, but still only at a walk.
Jack spoke to Vicente in what he thought was a loud tone of voice, butthe wind snatched his words away and Vicente, putting his hand up tohis ear, leaned over toward Jack, who repeated his question.
"Shall we try to hold them, or just let them drift, and stay with them?"
"Must let 'em drift," shouted Vicente, "but keep 'em together. Prettysoon some boys from camp will come. Must let 'em drift until stormstops, or they get shelter. The best thing is for three of us to getahead, and go slow with the wind, and one man get on each side."
Jack rode off to speak to such other men as he could find, andpresently from up the wind came the sound of galloping hoofs, whichthen slowed down to a trot, and in a little while almost the wholeforce of the camp except the cook and the night horse wrangler wereabout the herd, moving along at the same pace with it, guarding itcarefully in front and carefully on either side, and leaving the rearof the herd open.
The wind blew with the violence of a tornado and the occasional spitsof level rain which accompanied the storm stung the face. One or twomen who had been slow about tying on their hats lost them with littleprospect of ever recovering them. The cattle were uncomfortable andmoved along bellowing, but showed no disposition to run. On the sidesthey sometimes tried to scatter, but the line of boys riding there keptthem turned back.
This went on for some hours, until Jack thought that daylight mustbe near. His slicker was on his saddle, but at no time had it seemedto rain hard enough to justify his stopping and putting it on, forat every moment there had seemed either something to be done, or apossibility that quick action might be required; so by this time hewas pretty wet and pretty cold, but he thought little of this in hisanxious watching of the cattle. Presently, however, he happened to turnhis eyes upward, and saw three or four bright stars looking down at himfrom the sky, and he gave a whoop of joy for he knew that the stormhad about blown itself out. Soon the wind began to fall and then theeastern horizon to lighten, and before very long the bright sun rose ina clear sky, and their troubles for the time were over.
The weary cowboys turned the herd and drove the cattle back over thetrail they had followed, until they reached their old bed ground. Therethey turned them loose under the charge of two or three men, and allthe others returned to camp for breakfast, which, as a matter of fact,was now dinner, for it was high noon.
"Boys," said McIntyre while they were eating their meal, "we may aswell stop here now and rest up; but, Jack and Joe and Donald, as soonas you've eaten, you three go out and relieve those fellows on herd,and let them come in and get some dinner. After these boys have slepttwo or three hours, I will send men out to relieve you."
The cattle, like the cow punchers, were tired, and as soon as they hadgrazed a while they lay down, showing no disposition to move. The boys,therefore, took a commanding position on a hill and holding the ropesof their horses allowed them to feed about them.
"Of course, that was not a stampede, Joe?" asked Donald uncertainly.
"Not much," said Joe. "That was just plain ordinary drifting; but therewas one while, just before the cattle started, when I thought that itwas nip and tuck whether we would have a stampede or not. It would nothave taken much to start those cattle off, and it sure would have beena bad night to ride in front of 'em and to turn 'em."
"I don't see how a man could ride fast over such a country as wecrossed," Donald said.
"Well," said Jack, "could, or could not, he'd just have had to. It's aground-hog case when a stampede is on."
"But I should think you'd break your neck; and kill all your horses."
"Well," declared Joe, "sometimes a man falls and breaks his neck, andoftener still a horse falls and breaks his neck or a leg, but of coursethe cattle have got to be turned. That's what we're hired for, and it'sour business to do our work."
"You spoke before about turning the cattle. Where do you want to turnthem to, and why do you want to turn them?"
"We want to turn 'em to get 'em to mill, and if we once get 'emmilling, the trouble is pretty well over."
"I am sorry to seem so dull," said Donald, "but what do you mean bymilling?"
"Why, we want to turn the cattle and get 'em running around in acircle. The hind ones will follow the lead ones, and if you can turnthe lead ones, and keep 'em turning, after awhile they just keeprunning around and around in a circle and the hind ones follow 'em, andas you can understand, they don't get very far away."
"Now, certainly," exclaimed the Englishman, "that is very clever. Inever should have thought of that. But how do you manage to turn them?Of course, you cannot go in front of them, because they would run overyou and kill you."
"You do go in front of 'em; and without you go in front of 'em, yousurely can't turn 'em. What a puncher does is to get right up evenwith the head of the herd and maybe a little in front of it, and thento keep edging over so as to push the head of the herd away from him.Likely too he's got to make some gun play, because, of course, theflash and noise of the shots close to 'em will tend to push the cattleover. Sometimes men go right in front of 'em and try to stop 'em byshooting, but I never saw much good done in that way.
"I reckon if you ask Vicente, or any of the older men here--McIntyre,for example--he'll tell you that it counts for more to try to push thecattle over from one side than it does to go in front of 'em and tryto stop 'em. If you do that they may turn; but what's just as likely tohappen is that they'll split and go off in two or three bunches--andthat's likely to mean that the whole country has got to be ridden againto gather up these scattered cattle."
"It must require an extraordinary amount of courage on a black nightsuch as last night to ride in front of, or even up at the head of, aherd of frightened cattle going as hard as they can," said Donald. "Iam sure that I could not have ridden fast last night and guided myhorse at all. I could not see my horse's ears, to say nothing of theground in front of him."
"No," Jack said; "I guess you couldn't. I've never been yet in a realstampede, but I'd be willing to bet that the cow puncher who rode atthe head of a stampede and tried to look out and guide his horse on togood ground would not be worth very much a month to his employer. Howis that, Joe?"
Joe laughed.
"I guess he'd be worth about seventy-five cents a month; and he'd haveto furnish hi
s own grub, too."
"But what do you mean?" asked Donald.
"Why," explained Joe, "a man riding fast and at night don't try to pickhis ground--he can't try to pick the ground. He leaves that to hishorse; it's up to him to watch the cattle, and it's up to the horse tokeep on his four legs. If the rider doesn't watch the cattle and thehorse doesn't keep on his legs, why horse and rider both are out of it,and of no use to anybody."
"That's just what I supposed," said Jack. "I remember once a good manyyears ago Hugh gave me a lecture on horses, and the use they make oftheir eyes; he told me about how many falls young stock have beforethey are broken, and how much use horses must make of their eyes. Youcan see that if you put a blind on a horse, he will stand perfectlystill, no matter how wild he is, and will let you do 'most anythingwith him. Take the use of his eyes away from him, and a horse is prettynearly afraid to move."
"Sure thing," declared Joe, as he scratched a match to light acigarette that he had just finished rolling; "a prairie or a mountainhorse can go along in the dark without anybody guiding him a great dealbetter than he could if driven by the sharpest-sighted man."
"Donald might like to see it, but I hope with all my heart that wewon't have a stampede on this round-up," Jack said.
"I hope not," replied Joe. "I have known of one man being killed andseveral men being hurt in stampedes, and if I can keep out of 'em Imean to do it. Now, look here, if one of you fellows will lend me hiswatch I'll set here and look after these cattle for an hour, and youtwo can go to sleep; then, after an hour, I'll call one of you andsleep myself, and an hour later he can call the other. By that timelikely there'll be somebody out to relieve us."
"No," protested Donald; "you and Jack sleep, and let me watch. I havedone less work than any one since I came here, and I can sit on thishill in the sun and see what the cattle are doing. If they make anymovement I can call one of you."
"All right," assented Joe; "that'll suit me, if you feel like it."
Jack and Joe stretched themselves out on the ground and with their hatsover their faces were soon breathing heavily in deep sleep. Donald saton the hill and watched the cattle, but as time passed he grew more andmore sleepy until finally he had almost made up his mind to stretch outand close his eyes--not really to sleep but just to think. However, ashe looked at his watch just before this desire became overpowering, hesaw that only ten minutes remained of his vigil, and so kept himselfawake until it was time to call one of the others.
Joe on being roused shook himself, rose and walked a few yards backand forth in either direction and then, thoroughly awake, sat down andbegan to roll and smoke cigarettes.
Before the time came to call Jack, Mason and Charley Powell appearedon the scene, saying that they would stay with the cattle until it wastime to bed them down. The other three gladly mounted their horses,trotted into camp and threw themselves on the ground in the shade,where they slept until the cook shouted the call for supper.
After the meal was over Jack sat down by the fire close to the Mexican.
"Vicente," he said, "I was mighty glad I bumped up against you lastnight, for I had no idea what had to be done. Of course, when Irecognized your horse I knew that you could tell me."
"Yes," drawled Vicente between puffs of his cigarette, "last night,most had cattle running, what you say _estampeda_. Pretty lucky theother men got there. If once those cattle had started, we'd have hadto ride hard."
"There was one while," said Jack Mason, "that I was plumb lost. I wasriding that little whittley-dig pony of mine, and he stepped in ahole and fell down and I rolled off. It was so black I couldn't seeanything. Reaching around I happened to feel the horse. I mounted, butI was all turned around. I didn't have an idea which way the cattlewere, and I couldn't see nor hear 'em. Of course I knew the only thingto do was to let my horse find the cattle; and that's what he did; butuntil I got close to 'em I didn't know where they were, nor anythingabout 'em."
"Mighty queer," commented Hugh, who was listening, "the way a man canget turned around, if he can't use his eyes. I reckon I've told you,son," he added, turning to Jack, "about the only time I ever got lost.It was on pretty nearly level ground that I had never been on before,and in a blinding snowstorm. Well, sir, I had no more idea of thedirection of the sun, moon or stars than just nothing at all. For alittle way I traveled by the wind, and then I stopped and made up mymind that I'd wait until something happened; and I did have to wait fortwenty-four long hours before I got a glimpse of the sun."
"I had something like that happen to me once in thick timber that hadbeen burned over," Jack Mason said. "It was a cloudy day on a kind ofplateau, and every tall straight stick looked like every other tallstraight stick. A mighty mean situation to be in."
"It must be a terrible sensation," said Donald, "to lose all sense ofdirection. Long ago, before I had ever been much out of doors, I usedto carry a compass and to consult it frequently, but of late years Ihave rather abandoned that practise."
"When the sky is clear you don't need a compass or anything else," saidJack, "because you can look at the sun or the stars; but, of course,if it's cloudy, or rainy, or snowy, that's different. If a man is in acountry he knows, or knows anything about, and gets lost he can followthe ravines and creeks down to the main stream."
"Well," put in Hugh, "a man isn't in much danger of being lost just aslong as he keeps his wits about him; but just as soon as he gets scaredand loses his wits and begins to think that the sun is in the wrongplace, or the compass is wrong, or the waters are running uphill, thenhe's in a bad way, because he's pretty close to crazy. The main thingis to keep your head, and then you'll come out all right; but in thesedays, when there are so many fences and roads and railroads all overthe country it would be pretty hard to be lost, I expect."
"Yet back East," said Jack, "every now and then we hear about men andwomen and children being lost in little pieces of swamp and woodsalmost within hearing of their houses. Of course, these are people whohave never thought of taking care of themselves out of doors, and getlost just as soon as they get where they can't see things that theyrecognize."
"Such people ought not to be allowed to wander away," drawled JackMason; "they ought to have people to look after them. But then Isuppose back East there are so many houses and so many people thatit's hard to get out of sight of 'em."
"No," laughed Jack; "there are a good many people there, but it isn'tquite so bad as you say."
Hugh knocked the ashes from his pipe, rose to his feet, and stretched.
"Well, good night, boys; I'm going to hunt my blankets," he said.
The others soon followed him and the fire was deserted.