CHAPTER IX
A WINTRY CRUCIBLE
The dreaded winter was at hand. Scarcely a day passed but the harbingersof air and sky sounded the warning approach of the forthcoming siege.Great flights of song and game birds, in their migration southward, lentan accent as they twittered by or honked in mid-air, while scurryingclouds and squally weather bore witness of approaching winter.
The tent was struck and stored away. The extra saddle stock was freedfor the winter, and located around Hackberry Grove. The three besthorses were given a ration of corn, and on Dell's return from therailroad, the cattle were put under herd. The most liberal freedom mustbe allowed; with the numbers on hand, the term _close_ herding wouldimply grazing the cattle on a section of land, while _loose_ herdingwould mean four or five times that acreage. New routes must be takendaily; the weather would govern the compactness and course of the herd,while a radius of five miles from the corral was a liberal range.
The brothers were somewhat familiar with winter on the plains. Cold wasto be expected, but if accompanied by sunshine and a dry atmosphere,there was nothing to fear. A warm, fine day was usually the forerunnerof a storm, the approach of which gave little warning, requiring asleepless vigilance to avoid being taken unaware or at a disadvantage.
The day's work began at sunrise. Cattle are loath to leave a dry bed,and on throwing open the corral gates, it was often necessary to enterand arouse the herd. Thereafter, under normal conditions, it was amatter of pointing, keeping up the drag cattle, allowing the herd tospread and graze, and contracting and relaxing as occasion required. Inhandling, it was a decided advantage that the little nucleus had knownherd restraint, in trailing overland from Texas, and were obedient, at adistance of fifty yards, to the slightest whistle or pressure of aherdsman. Under favorable conditions, the cattle could be depended on tograze until noon, when they were allowed an hour's rest, and the circlehomeward was timed so as to reach the corral and water by sunset. Theduties of each day were a repetition of the previous one, the moods ofthe old and younger cattle, sedate and frolicsome, affording the onlyvariety to the monotony of the task.
"Holding these cattle is going to be no trouble at all," said Dell, asthey rode homeward, at the end of the first day's herding. "My horsenever wet a hair to-day."
"Don't shout before you're out of the woods," replied Joel. "The firstof April will be soon enough to count our chickens. To-morrow is onlythe beginning of December."
"Last year we shucked corn up until Christmas."
"Husking corn is a burnt bridge with me. We're herding cattle thiswinter. Sit straight in your saddle."
A week of fine weather followed. The boys were kept busy, early andlate, with the details of house and stable. A new route each day wastaken with the herd, and after penning in the evening, it was a dailyoccurrence, before bedtime, to walk back to the corral and see that allwas secure. Warning of approach and departure, on the part of the boys,either by whistling or singing, was always given the cattle, and thecustomary grunting of the herd answered for its own contentment. Aparting look was given the horses, their forage replenished, and everycomfort looked after to the satisfaction of their masters. By nature,horses are distant and slow of any expression of friendship; but anoccasional lump of sugar, a biscuit at noon-time, with the presentration of grain, readily brought the winter mounts to a reliance, wherethey nickered at the approaching footsteps of their riders.
The trust of the boys, in their winter mounts, entitles the latter to aprominent place in the line of defense. Rowdy, Joel's favorite, was aveteran cow horse, dark brown in color, and, under the saddle, restless,with a knowledge of his work that bordered on the human. Dell favoredDog-toe, a chestnut in color, whose best point was a perfect rein, andfrom experience in roping could halt from any gait on the space of ablanket. The relay horse was named Coyote, a cinnamon-colored mount,Spanish marked in a black stripe down his back, whose limbs weretriple-ringed above the knees, or where the body color merged with theblack of his legs. Their names had followed them from the trail, one ofwhich was due to color marks, one to disposition, while that of Dell'schestnut was easily traceable, from black marks in his hoofs quarteringinto toes.
The first storm struck near the middle of December. It was preceded byan ideal day; like the promise of spring, a balmy south wind swept therange, while at night a halo encircled the moon.
"It will storm within three days," said Dell, as the boys strolled up tothe corral for a last look at the sleeping cattle. "There are threestars inside the circle around the moon. That's one of GrannyMetcalf's signs."
"Well, we'll not depend on signs," replied Joel. "These old granny omensmay be all right to hatch chickens by, but not to hold cattle. Alladvice on that point seems to rely on corn-fed saddle horses andlittle sleep."
The brothers spent the customary hour at the corral. From the bluff bankwhich encircled the inclosure, the lads looked down on the contentedherd, their possession and their promise; and the tie of man and hisbeast was accented anew in their youthful hearts.
"Mr. Paul was telling me on one of our rides," said Joel, gazing down onthe sleeping herd, "that we know nothing of the human race in an age soremote that it owned no cattle. He says that when the pyramids of Egyptwere being built, ours was then an ancient occupation. I love to hearMr. Paul talk about cattle. Hark!"
The long howl of a wolf to the south was answered by a band to thewestward, and echoed back from the north in a single voice, eachapparently many miles distant. Animal instinct is usually unerring, andthe boys readily recalled the statement of the old trail foreman, thatthe howling of wolves was an omen of a forthcoming storm.
"Let it come," said Joel, arising and starting homeward. "We'll meet it.Our course to-morrow will be northwest."
It came with little warning. Near the middle of the following afternoon,a noticeable lull in the wind occurred, followed by a leaden horizon onthe west and north. The next breeze carried the icy breath of thenorthwest, and the cattle turned as a single animal. The alert horsemenacted on the instant, and began throwing the cattle into a compact herd.At the time they were fully three miles from the corral, and when lessthan halfway home, the storm broke in splendid fury. A swirl of snowaccompanied the gale, blinding the boys for an instant, but each ladheld a point of the herd and the raging elements could be depended on tobring up the rear.
It was no easy victory. The quarter from which the storm came had beenanticipated to a fraction. The cattle drifted before its wrath, droppedinto the valley just above the corral, where the boys doubled on theoutside point, and by the aid of a wing-gate turned the wandering herdinto the enclosure. The rear, lashed by the storm, instinctivelyfollowed the leaders, and the gates were closed and roped securely.
It was a close call. The lesson came vividly near to the boys."Hereafter," said Joel, "all signs of a storm must be acted upon. Wecorraled these cattle by a scratch. Now I know what a winter driftmeans. A dozen men couldn't turn this herd from the course of to-day'sstorm. We must hold nearer the corral."
The boys swung into their saddles, and, trusting to their horses, safelyreached the stable. A howling night followed; the wind banked the snowagainst every obstacle, or filled the depressions, even sifting throughevery crack and crevice in the dug-out. The boys and their mounts weresnug within sod walls, the cattle were sheltered in a cove of the creek,and the storm wailed its dirges unheeded.
Dawn broke cold and clear. Sun-dogs flanked the day's harbinger andsunrise found the boys at the corral gate. The cattle lazily respondedto their freedom, the course led to the nearest divide, wind-swept ofsnow, and which after an hour's sun afforded ample grazing for the day.The first storm of the winter had been met, and its one clear lessonlent a dread to any possible successors. The herd in the grip of astorm, cut off from the corral, had a new meaning to the embryo cowmen.The best advice is mere theory until applied, and experience in thepractical things of life is not transferable.
The first storm was followed by ideal winter
weather until Christmasday. The brothers had planned an extra supper on that occasion,expecting to excuse Dell during the early afternoon for the culinarytask, and only requiring his services on corraling the herd at evening.The plan was feasible, the cattle were herd-broke, knew their bed andwater, and on the homeward circle all that was required was to directand time the grazing herd. The occasion had been looked forward to,partly because it was their very own, their first Christmas spread, andpartly on account of some delicacies that their sponsor had forced onDell on parting at the railroad, in anticipation of the day. The boundsof the supper approached a banquet, and the question of appetites tograce the occasion was settled.
The supper was delayed. Not from any fault in the planning, but theweather had not been consulted. The herd had been grazed out on anorthwest course for the day, and an hour after noon, almost the time atwhich Dell was to have been excused, a haze obscured the sun and droppedlike a curtain around the horizon. Scurrying clouds appeared, and beforethe herd could be thrown together and started, a hazy, leaden sky shotup, almost due west, heralding the quarter of the coming storm. The herdsensed the danger and responded to the efforts of the horsemen; butbefore a mile had been covered, it was enveloped in swirling snow andveering its march with the course of the storm. The eddying snow blindedthe boys as to their direction; they supposed they were pointing thecattle into the valley, unaware that the herd had changed its course onthe onslaught of the elements. Confidence gave way to uncertainty, andwhen sufficient time had elapsed to more than have reached the corral,conjecture as to their location became rife. From the moment the stormstruck, both boys had bent every energy to point the herd into thevalley, but when neither slope nor creek was encountered, the factasserted itself that they were adrift and at the mercy of the elements.
"We've missed the corral," shouted Dell. "We're lost!"
"Not yet," answered Joel, amid the din of the howling storm. "Thecreek's to our right. Loosen your rope and we'll beat these leaders intothe valley."
The plying of ropes, the shouting of boys, and the pressure of horsesmerely turned the foremost cattle, when a new contingent forged to thefront, impelled onward by the fury of the storm. Again and again theboys plied the fear of ropes and the force of horses, but each effortwas futile, as new leaders stepped into the track of the displaced ones,and the course of the herd was sullenly maintained.
The battle was on, and there were no reserves within call. In a crisislike the present, moments drag like hours, and the firing line neededheartening. A knowledge of the country was of no avail, a rod or two wasthe limit of vision, and the brothers dared not trust each other out ofsight. Time moved forward unmeasured, yet amid all Joel Wells remainedin possession of a stanch heart and an unbewildered mind. "The creek'sto our right," was his battle cry. "Come on; let's turn these leadcattle once more."
Whether it was the forty-ninth or hundredth effort is not on record, butat some point in the good fight, the boys became aware that the cattlewere descending a slope--the welcome, southern slope of the Beavervalley! Overhead the storm howled mercilessly, but the shelter of thehillside admitted of veering the herd on its course, until the valleywas reached. No knowledge of their location was possible, and all thebrothers could do was to cross to the opposite point, and direct theherd against the leeward bank of the creek. Every landmark was lost,with the herd drifting at will.
The first recognition was due to animal instinct. Joel's horse neighed,was answered by Dell's, and with slack rein, the two turned a few rodsaside and halted at their stable door. Even then the boys could scarcelyidentify their home quarters, so enveloped was the dug-out inswirling snow.
"Get some matches," said Joel, refusing to dismount. "There's no haltingthese cattle short of the second cut-bank, below on the left. Come on;we must try and hold the herd."
The sullen cattle passed on. The halt was only for a moment, when theboys resumed their positions on the point and front. Allowing the cattleto move, assured a compact herd, as on every attempt to halt or turn it,the rear forged to the front and furnished new leaders, and in unity laya hope of holding the drifting cattle.
The lay of the Beaver valley below headquarters was well known. Thebanks of the creek shifted from a valley on one side, to low,perpendicular bluffs on the other. It was in one of these meanderings ofthe stream that Joel saw a possible haven, the sheltering cut-bank thathe hoped to reach, where refuge might be secured against the ragingelements. It lay several miles below the homestead, and if the driftingherd reached the bend before darkness, there was a fighting chance tohalt the cattle in a protected nook. The cove in mind was larger thanthe one in which the corral was built, and if a successful entrancecould only be effected--but that was the point.
"This storm is quartering across the valley," said Joel, during a lull,"and if we make the entrance, we'll have to turn the herd on a directangle from the course of the wind. If the storm veers to the north, itwill sweep us out of the valley, with nothing to shelter the cattle thisside of the Prairie Dog. It's make that entrance, or abandon the herd,and run the chance of overtaking it."
"We'll rush them," said Dell. "Remember how those men, the day webranded, rushed the cattle into the branding chute."
"They could do things that we wouldn't dare--those were trail men."
"The cattle are just as much afraid of a boy as of a man; they don'tknow any difference. You point them and I'll rush them. Remember thatstory Mr. Quince told about a Mexican boy throwing himself across agateway, and letting a thousand range horses jump over him? You could dothat, too, if you had the nerve. Watch me rush them."
It seemed an age before the cut-bank was reached. The meanderings of thecreek were not even recognizable, and only an occasional willow could beidentified, indicating the location of the present drift. Occasionallythe storm thickened or lulled, rendering it impossible to measure thepassing time, and the dread of nightfall was intensified. Under suchstress, the human mind becomes intensely alert, and every word ofwarning, every line of advice, urged on the boys by their sponsors, cameback in their hour of trial with an applied meaning. This was no dressparade, with the bands playing and horses dancing to the champing oftheir own bits; no huzzas of admiring throngs greeted this silent,marching column; no love-lit eyes watched their hero or soft hand wavedlace or cambric from the border of this parade ground.
A lone hackberry tree was fortunately remembered as growing near theentrance to the bend which formed the pocket. When receiving the cattlefrom the trail, it was the landmark for dropping the cripples. The treegrew near the right bank of the creek, the wagon trail passed under it,making it a favorite halting place when freighting in supplies. Dellremembered its shade, and taking the lead, groped forward in search ofthe silent sentinel which stood guard at the gateway of the cove. It wastheir one hope, and by zigzagging from the creek to any semblance of aroad, the entrance to the nook might be identified.
The march of the herd was slow and sullen. The smaller cattle shelteredin the lee of the larger, moving compactly, as if the density of theherd radiated a heat of its own. The saddle horses, southern bred andunacclimated, humped their backs and curled their heads to the knee,indicating, with the closing day, a falling temperature. Suddenly, andas clear as the crack of a rifle, the voice of Dell Wells was heard inthe lead:--
"Come on, Joel; here's our hackberry! Here's where the fight is won orlost! Here's where you point them while I rush them! Come quick!"
The brothers shifted positions. It was the real fight of the day.Responding to spur and quirt, the horses sprang like hungry wolves atthe cattle, and the gloomy column turned quartering into the eye of thestorm. But as on every other attempt to turn or mill the drifting herd,new leaders forged to the front and threatened to carry the drift pastthe entrance to the pocket. The critical moment had arrived.Dismounting, with a coiled rope in hand, Dell rushed on the volunteerleaders, batting them over the heads, until they whirled into theangling column, awakened from their stupor and panic-stricken
from theassault of a boy, who attacked with the ferocity of a fiend, hissinglike an adder or crying in the eerie shrill of a hyena in the samebreath. It worked like a charm! Its secret lay in the mastery of thehuman over all things created. Elated by his success, Dell stripped hiscoat, and with a harmless weapon in each hand, assaulted everycontingent of new leaders, striking right and left, throwing his weightagainst their bodies, and by the magic of his mimic furies forcing theminto obedience.
Meanwhile Joel had succeeded in holding the original leaders in line,and within a hundred yards from the turn, the shelter of the bend wasreached. The domestic bovine lows for the comfort of his stable, and nosooner had the lead cattle entered the sheltering nook, than theirvoices arose in joyous lowing, which ran back through the column for thefirst time since the storm struck. Turning to the support of Dell, theolder boy lent his assistance, forcing the angle, until the drag end ofthe column had passed into the sheltering haven. The fight was won, andto Dell's courage, in the decisive moment, all credit was due. The humanis so wondrously constructed and so infinite in variety, that where oneof these brothers was timid the other laughed at the storm, and wherephysical courage was required to assault a sullen herd, the daring ofone amazed the other. Cattle are the emblem of innocence and strength,and yet a boy--in spite of all that has been written to thecontrary--could dismount in the face of the wildest stampede, and bymerely waving a handkerchief split in twain the frenzied onrush of threethousand beeves.
Dell recovered his horse, and the brothers rode back and forth acrossthe mouth of the pocket. The cattle were milling in an endlessmerry-go-round, contented under the sheltering bluffs, lowing for matesand cronies, while above howled the elements with unrelenting fury.
"We'll have to guard this entrance until the cattle bed down for thenight," remarked Joel, on surveying the situation. "I wonder if wecould start a fire."
"I'll drop back to the hackberry and see if I can rustle some wood,"said Dell, wheeling his horse and following the back trail of thecattle. He returned with an armful of dry twigs, and a fire was sooncrackling under the cliff. A lodgment of old driftwood was found belowthe bend, and as darkness fell in earnest, a cosy fire threw its shadowsover the nook.
A patrol was established and the night's vigil begun. The sentinel beatwas paced in watches between the boys, the width of the gateway beingabout two hundred yards. There was no abatement of the storm, and it washours before all the cattle bedded down. The welfare of the horses wasthe main concern, and the possibility of reaching home before morningwas freely discussed. The instinct of the horses could be relied on tofind the way to their stable, but return would be impossible beforedaybreak. The brothers were so elated over holding the cattle that anypersonal hardship was endurable, and after a seeming age, a lull in theelements was noticeable and a star shone forth. Joel mounted his horseand rode out of the cove, into the open valley, and on returningannounced that the storm had broken and that an attempt to reachhome was safe.
Quietly as Arabs, the boys stole away, leaving the cattle to sleep outthe night. Once the hackberry was reached, the horses were given freerein, when restraint became necessary to avoid galloping home. The snowcrunched underfoot, the mounts snorted their protest at hindrance,vagrant breezes and biting cold cut the riders to the marrow, but onapproaching the homestead the reins were shaken out and the horsesdashed up to the stable door.
"There's the morning star," observed Joel, as he dismounted.
"If we're going to be cowmen," remarked Dell, glancing at the star as heswung out of the saddle, "hereafter we'll eat our Christmas supperin October."