Barb Wire

: Bar-20 Days

After the flurry at Perry's Bend the Bar-20 settled down to the calm

routine work and sent several drive herds to their destination without

any unusual incidents. Buck thought that the last herd had been driven

when, late in the summer, he received an order that he made haste to

fill. The outfit was told to get busy and soon rounded up the necessary

number of three-year-olds. Then came the road branding, the final step

except inspection, and this was done not far from the ranch house, where

the facilities were best for speedy work.



Entirely recovered from all ill effects of his afternoon in Jackson's

store up in Perry's bend, Johnny Nelson waited with Red Connors on the

platform of the branding chute and growled petulantly at the sun, the

dust, but most of all at the choking, smarting odor of burned hair which

filled their throats and caused them to rub the backs of grimy hands

across their eyes. Chute-branding robbed them of the excitement, the

leaven of fun and frolic, which they always took from open or corral

branding--and the work of a day in the corral or open was condensed into

an hour or two by the chute. This was one cow wide, narrow at the bottom

and flared out as it went up, so the animal could not turn, and when

filled was, to use Johnny's graphic phrase, "like a chain of cows in a

ditch." Eight of the wondering and crowded animals, guided into the pen

by men who knew their work to the smallest detail and lost no time in

its performance, filed into the pen after those branded had filed out.

As the first to enter reached the farther end a stout bar dropped into

place, just missing the animal's nose; and as the last cow discovered

that it could go no farther and made up its mind to back out, it was

stopped by another bar, which fell behind it. The iron heaters tossed

a hot iron each to Red and Johnny and the eight were marked in short

order, making about two hundred and fifty they had branded in three

hours. This number compared very favorably with that of the second

chute where Lanky Smith and Frenchy McAlister waved cold irons and

sarcastically asked their iron men if the sun was supposed to provide

the heat; whereat the down-trodden heaters provided heat with great

generosity in their caustic retorts.



"Oh, Susanna, don't you cry for me," sang Billy Williams, one of the

feeders. "But why in Jericho don't you fellers get a move on you? You

ain't no good on the platform--you ought to be mixing biscuits for

Cookie. Frenchy and Lanky are the boys to turn 'em out," he offered,

gratis.



Red's weary air bespoke a vast and settled contempt for such inanities

and his iron descended against the side of the victim below him--he

would not deign to reply. Not so with Johnny, who could not refrain from

hot retort.



"Don't be a fool all the time," snapped Johnny. "Mind yore own

business, you shorthorn. Big-mouthed old woman, that's what--" his tone

dropped and the words sank into vague mutterings which a strangling

cough cut short. "Blasted idiot," he whispered, tears coming into his

eyes at the effort. Burning hair is bad for throat and temper alike.



Red deftly knocked his companion's iron up and spoke sharply. "You mind

yourn better--that makes the third you've tried to brand twice. Why

don't you look what yo're doing? Hot iron! Hot iron! What're you fellers

doing?" he shouted down at the heaters. "This ain't no time to go

to sleep. How d'ye expect us to do any work when you ain't doing any

yoreselves!" Red's temper was also on the ragged edge.



"You've got one in yore other hand, you sheep!" snorted one of the iron

heaters with restless pugnacity. "Go tearing into us when you--" he

growled the rest and kicked viciously at the fire.



"Lovely bunch," grinned Billy who, followed by Pete Wilson, mounted the

platform to relieve the branders. "Chase yoreselves--me an' Pete are

shore going to show you cranky bugs how to do a hundred an hour. Ain't

we, Pete? An' look here, you," he remarked to the heaters, "don't you

fellers keep us waiting for hot irons!"



"That's right! Make a fool out of yoreself first thing!" snapped one of

the pair on the ground.



"Billy, I never loved you as much as I do this minute," grinned Johnny

wearily. "Wish you'd 'a' come along to show us how to do it an hour

ago."



"I would, only--"



"Quit chinning an' get busy," remarked Red, climbing down. "The chute's

full; an' it's all yourn."



Billy caught the iron, gave it a preliminary flourish, and started to

work with a speed that would not endure for long. He branded five out of

the eight and jeered at his companion for being so slow.



"Have yore fun now, Billy," Pete replied with placid good nature.

"Before we're through with this job you'll be lucky if you can do two of

the string, if you keep up that pace."



"He'll be missing every other one," growled his heater with overflowing

malice. "That iron ain't cold, you Chinaman!"



"Too cold for me--don't miss none," chuckled Billy sweetly. "Fill the

chute! Fill the chute! Don't keep us waiting!" he cried to the guiders,

hopping around with feigned eagerness and impatience.



Hopalong Cassidy rode up and stopped as Red returned to take the place

of one of the iron heaters. "How they coming, Red?" he inquired.



"Fast. You can sic that inspector on 'em the first thing to-morrow

morning, if he gets here on time. Bet he's off som'ers getting full of

redeye. Who're going with you on this drive?"



"The inspector is all right--he's here now an' is going to spend the

night with us so as to be on hand the first thing to-morrow," replied

Hopalong, grinning at the hard-working pair on the platform. "Why, I

reckon I'll take you, Johnny, Lanky, Billy, Pete, an' Skinny, an'

we'll have two hoss-wranglers an' a cook, of course. We'll drive up

the right-hand trail through West Valley this time. It's longer, but

there'll be more water that way at this time of the year. Besides, I

don't want no more foot-sore cattle to nurse along. Even the West Valley

trail will be dry enough before we strike Bennett's Creek."



"Yes; we'll have to drive 'em purty hard till we reach the creek,"

replied Red, thoughtfully. "Say; we're going to have three thousand of

the finest three-year-old steers ever sent north out of these parts. An'

we ought to do it in a month an' deliver 'em fat an' frisky. We can feed

'em good for the last week."



"I just sent some of the boys out to drive in the cayuses," Hopalong

remarked, "an' when they get here you fellers match for choice an' pick

yore remuda. No use taking too few. About eight apiece'll do us nice. I

shore like a good cavvieyeh."



"Hullo, Hoppy!" came from the platform as Billy grinned his welcome

through the dust on his face. "Want a job?"



"Hullo yoreself," growled Pete. "Stick yore iron on that fourth steer

before he gets out, an' talk less with yore mouth."



"Pete's still rabid," called Billy, performing the duty Pete suggested.



"That may be the polite name for it," snorted one of the iron heaters,

testing an iron, "but that ain't what I'd say. Might as well cover the

subject thoroughly while yo're on it."



"Yes, verily," endorsed his companion.



"Here comes the last of 'em," smiled Pete, watching several cattle being

driven towards the chute. "We'll have to brand 'em on the move, Billy;

there ain't enough to fill the chute."



"All right; hot iron, you!"



Early the next morning the inspector looked them over and made his

count, the herd was started north and at nightfall had covered twelve

miles. For the next week everything went smoothly, but after that, water

began to be scarce and the herd was pushed harder, and became harder to

handle.



On the night of the twelfth day out four men sat around the fire in

West Valley at a point a dozen miles south of Bennett's Creek, and ate

heartily. The night was black--not a star could be seen and the south

wind hardly stirred the trampled and burned grass. They were thoroughly

tired out and their tempers were not in the sweetest state imaginable,

for the heat during the last four days had been almost unbearable even

to them and they had had their hands full with the cranky herd. They ate

silently, hungrily--there would be time enough for the few words they

had to say when the pipes were going for a short smoke before turning

in.



"I feel like hell," growled Red, reaching for another cup of coffee, but

there was no reply; he had voiced the feelings of all.



Hopalong listened intently and looked up, staring into the darkness, and

soon a horseman was seen approaching the fire. Hopalong nodded welcome

and waved his hand towards the food, and the stranger, dismounting,

picketed his horse and joined the circle. When the pipes were lighted he

sighed with satisfaction and looked around the group. "Driving north, I

see."



"Yes; an' blamed glad to get off this dry range," Hopalong replied.

"The herd's getting cranky an' hard to hold--but when we pass the creek

everything'll be all right again. An' ain't it hot! When you hear us

kick about the heat it means something."



"I'm going yore way," remarked the stranger. "I came down this trail

about two weeks ago. Reckon I was the last to ride through before the

fence went up. Damned outrage, says I, an' I told 'em so, too. They

couldn't see it that way an' we had a little disagreement about it. They

said as how they was going to patrol it."



"Fence! What fence?" exclaimed Red.



"Where's there any fence?" demanded Hopalong sharply.



"Twenty mile north of the creek," replied the stranger, carefully

packing his pipe.



"What? Twenty miles north of the creek?" cried Hopalong. "What creek?"



"Bennett's. The 4X has strung three strands of barb wire from Coyote

Pass to the North Arm. Thirty mile long, without a gate, so they says."



"But it don't close this trail!" cried Hopalong in blank astonishment.



"It shore does. They say they owns that range an' can fence it in all

they wants. I told 'em different, but naturally they didn't listen to

me. An' they'll fight about it, too."



"But they can't shut off this trail!" exclaimed Billy, with angry

emphasis. "They don't own it no more'n we do!"



"I know all about that--you heard me tell you what they said."



"But how can we get past it?" demanded Hopalong.



"Around it, over the hills. You'll lose about three days doing it, too."



"I can't take no sand-range herd over them rocks, an' I ain't going to

drive 'round no North Arm or Coyote Pass if I could," Hopalong replied

with quiet emphasis. "There's poison springs on the east an' nothing but

rocks on the west. We go straight through."



"I'm afraid that you'll have to fight if you do," remarked the stranger.



"Then we'll fight!" cried Johnny, leaning forward. "Blasted coyotes!

What right have they got to block a drive trail that's as old as

cattle-raising in these parts! That trail was here before I was born,

it's allus been open, an' it's going to stay open! You watch us go

through!"



"Yo're dead right, Kid; we'll cut that fence an' stick to this trail,

an' fight if we has to," endorsed Red. "The Bar-20 ain't crawling out of

no hole that it can walk out of. They're bluffing; that's all."



"I don't think they are; an' there's twelve men in that outfit,"

suggested the stranger, offhand.



"We ain't got time to count odds; we never do down our way when we know

we're right. An' we're right enough in this game," retorted Hopalong,

quickly. "For the last twelve days we've had good luck, barring the few

on this dry range; an' now we're in for the other kind. By the Lord,

I wish we was here without the cows to take care of--we'd show 'em

something about blocking drive trails that ain't in their little book!"



"Blast it all! Wire fences coming down this way now," mused Johnny,

sullenly. He hated them by training as much as he hated horse-thieves

and sheep; and his companions had been brought up in the same school.

Barb wire, the death-knell to the old-time punching, the bar to riding

at will, a steel insult to fire the blood--it had come at last.



"We've shore got to cut it, Red,--" began Hopalong, but the cook had to

rid himself of some of his indignation and interrupted with heat.



"Shore we have!" came explosively from the tail board of the chuck

wagon. "Got to lay it agin my li'l axe an' swat it with my big ol'

monkey wrench! An' won't them posts save me a lot of trouble hunting

chips an' firewood!"



"We've shore got to cut it, Red," Hopalong repeated slowly. "You an'

Johnny an' me'll ride ahead after we cross the creek to-morrow an' do

it. I don't hanker after no fight with all these cows on my han's, but

we've got to risk one."



"Shore!" cried Johnny, hotly. "I can't get over the gall of them fellers

closing up the West Valley drive trail. Why, I never heard tell of such

a thing afore!"



"We're short-handed; we ought to have more'n we have to guard the

herd if there's a fight. If it stampedes--oh, well, that'll work out

to-morrow. The creek's only about twelve miles away an' we'll start at

daylight, so tumble in," Hopalong said as he arose. "Red, I'm going out

to take my shift--I'll send Pete in. Stranger," he added, turning, "I'm

much obliged to you for the warning. They might 'a' caught us with our

hands tied."



"Oh, that's all right," hastily replied the stranger, who was in hearty

accord with the plans, such as they were. "My name's Hawkins, an' I

don't like range fences no more'n you do. I used to hunt buffalo all

over this part of the country before they was all killed off, an' I

allus rode where I pleased. I'm purty old, but I can still see an'

shoot; an' I'm going to stick right along with you fellers an' see it

through. Every man counts in this game."



"Well, that's blamed white of you," Hopalong replied, greatly pleased by

the other's offer. "But I can't let you do it. I don't want to drag you

into no trouble, an'--"



"You ain't dragging me none; I'm doing it myself. I'm about as mad as

you are over it. I ain't good for much no more, an' if I shuffles off

fighting barb wire I'll be doing my duty. First it was nesters, then

railroads an' more nesters, then sheep, an' now it's wire--won't it

never stop? By the Lord, it's got to stop, or this country will go

to the devil an' won't be fit to live in. Besides, I've heard of your

fellers before--I'll tie to the Bar-20 any day."



"Well, I reckon you must if you must; yo're welcome enough," laughed

Hopalong, and he strode off to his picketed horse, leaving the others to

discuss the fence, with the assistance of the cook, until Pete rode in.



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