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The Drive

From: Arizona Nights

A cry awakened me. It was still deep night. The moon sailed overhead,
the stars shone unwavering like candles, and a chill breeze wandered in
from the open spaces of the desert. I raised myself on my elbow,
throwing aside the blankets and the canvas tarpaulin. Forty other
indistinct, formless bundles on the ground all about me were sluggishly
astir. Four figures passed and repassed between me and a red fire. I
knew them for the two cooks and the horse wranglers. One of the latter
was grumbling.

"Didn't git in till moon-up last night," he growled. "Might as well
trade my bed for a lantern and be done with it."

Even as I stretched my arms and shivered a little, the two wranglers
threw down their tin plates with a clatter, mounted horses and rode
away in the direction of the thousand acres or so known as the pasture.

I pulled on my clothes hastily, buckled in my buckskin shirt, and dove
for the fire. A dozen others were before me. It was bitterly cold.
In the east the sky had paled the least bit in the world, but the moon
and stars shone on bravely and undiminished. A band of coyotes was
shrieking desperate blasphemies against the new day, and the stray
herd, awakening, was beginning to bawl and bellow.

Two crater-like dutch ovens, filled with pieces of fried beef, stood
near the fire; two galvanised water buckets, brimming with soda
biscuits, flanked them; two tremendous coffee pots stood guard at
either end. We picked us each a tin cup and a tin plate from the box
at the rear of the chuck wagon; helped ourselves from a dutch oven, a
pail, and a coffee pot, and squatted on our heels as close to the fire
as possible. Men who came too late borrowed the shovel, scooped up
some coals, and so started little fires of their own about which new
groups formed.

While we ate, the eastern sky lightened. The mountains under the dawn
looked like silhouettes cut from slate-coloured paper; those in the
west showed faintly luminous. Objects about us became dimly visible.
We could make out the windmill, and the adobe of the ranch houses, and
the corrals. The cowboys arose one by one, dropped their plates into
the dishpan, and began to hunt out their ropes. Everything was obscure
and mysterious in the faint grey light. I watched Windy Bill near his
tarpaulin. He stooped to throw over the canvas. When he bent, it was
before daylight; when he straightened his back, daylight had come. It
was just like that, as though someone had reached out his hand to turn
on the illumination of the world.

The eastern mountains were fragile, the plain was ethereal, like a sea
of liquid gases. From the pasture we heard the shoutings of the
wranglers, and made out a cloud of dust. In a moment the first of the
remuda came into view, trotting forward with the free grace of the
unburdened horse. Others followed in procession: those near sharp and
well defined, those in the background more or less obscured by the
dust, now appearing plainly, now fading like ghosts. The leader turned
unhesitatingly into the corral. After him poured the stream of the
remuda--two hundred and fifty saddle horses--with an unceasing thunder
of hoofs.

Immediately the cook-camp was deserted. The cowboys entered the
corral. The horses began to circle around the edge of the enclosure as
around the circumference of a circus ring. The men, grouped at the
centre, watched keenly, looking for the mounts they had already decided
on. In no time each had recognised his choice, and, his loop trailing,
was walking toward that part of the revolving circumference where his
pony dodged. Some few whirled the loop, but most cast it with a quick
flip. It was really marvellous to observe the accuracy with which the
noose would fly, past a dozen tossing heads, and over a dozen backs, to
settle firmly about the neck of an animal perhaps in the very centre of
the group. But again, if the first throw failed, it was interesting to
see how the selected pony would dodge, double back, twist, turn, and
hide to escape second cast. And it was equally interesting to observe
how his companions would help him.

They seemed to realise that they were not wanted, and would push
themselves between the cowboy and his intended mount with the utmost
boldness. In the thick dust that instantly arose, and with the
bewildering thunder of galloping, the flashing change of grouping, the
rush of the charging animals, recognition alone would seem almost
impossible, yet in an incredibly short time each had his mount, and the
others, under convoy of the wranglers, were meekly wending their way
out over the plain. There, until time for a change of horses, they
would graze in a loose and scattered band, requiring scarcely any
supervision. Escape? Bless you, no, that thought was the last in
their minds.

In the meantime the saddles and bridles were adjusted. Always in a
cowboy's "string" of from six to ten animals the boss assigns him two
or three broncos to break in to the cow business. Therefore, each
morning we could observe a half dozen or so men gingerly leading wicked
looking little animals out to the sand "to take the pitch out of them."
One small black, belonging to a cowboy called the Judge, used more than
to fulfil expectations of a good time.

"Go to him, Judge!" someone would always remark.

"If he ain't goin' to pitch, I ain't goin' to make him", the Judge
would grin, as he swung aboard.

The black would trot off quite calmly and in a most matter of fact way,
as though to shame all slanderers of his lamb-like character. Then, as
the bystanders would turn away, he would utter a squeal, throw down his
head, and go at it. He was a very hard bucker, and made some really
spectacular jumps, but the trick on which he based his claims to
originality consisted in standing on his hind legs at so perilous an
approach to the perpendicular that his rider would conclude he was
about to fall backwards, and then suddenly springing forward in a
series of stiff-legged bucks. The first manoeuvre induced the rider to
loosen his seat in order to be ready to jump from under, and the second
threw him before he could regain his grip.

"And they say a horse don't think!" exclaimed an admirer.

But as these were broken horses--save the mark!--the show was all over
after each had had his little fling. We mounted and rode away, just as
the mountain peaks to the west caught the rays of a sun we should not
enjoy for a good half hour yet.

I had five horses in my string, and this morning rode "that C S horse,
Brown Jug." Brown Jug was a powerful and well-built animal, about
fourteen two in height, and possessed of a vast enthusiasm for
cow-work. As the morning was frosty, he felt good.

At the gate of the water corral we separated into two groups. The
smaller, under the direction of Jed Parker, was to drive the mesquite
in the wide flats. The rest of us, under the command of Homer, the
round-up captain, were to sweep the country even as far as the base of
the foothills near Mount Graham. Accordingly we put our horses to the
full gallop.

Mile after mile we thundered along at a brisk rate of speed. Sometimes
we dodged in and out among the mesquite bushes, alternately separating
and coming together again; sometimes we swept over grassy plains
apparently of illimitable extent, sometimes we skipped and hopped and
buck-jumped through and over little gullies, barrancas, and other sorts
of malpais--but always without drawing rein. The men rode easily, with
no thought to the way nor care for the footing. The air came back
sharp against our faces. The warm blood stirred by the rush flowed
more rapidly. We experienced a delightful glow. Of the morning cold
only the very tips of our fingers and the ends of our noses retained a
remnant. Already the sun was shining low and level across the plains.
The shadows of the canons modelled the hitherto flat surfaces of the

After a time we came to some low hills helmeted with the outcrop of a
rock escarpment. Hitherto they had seemed a termination of Mount
Graham, but now, when we rode around them, we discovered them to be
separated from the range by a good five miles of sloping plain. Later
we looked back and would have sworn them part of the Dos Cabesas
system, did we not know them to be at least eight miles' distant from
that rocky rampart. It is always that way in Arizona. Spaces develop
of whose existence you had not the slightest intimation. Hidden in
apparently plane surfaces are valleys and prairies. At one sweep of
the eye you embrace the entire area of an eastern State; but
nevertheless the reality as you explore it foot by foot proves to be
infinitely more than the vision has promised.

Beyond the hill we stopped. Here our party divided again, half to the
right and half to the left. We had ridden, up to this time, directly
away from camp, now we rode a circumference of which headquarters was
the centre. The country was pleasantly rolling and covered with grass.
Here and there were clumps of soapweed. Far in a remote distance lay a
slender dark line across the plain. This we knew to be mesquite; and
once entered, we knew it, too, would seem to spread out vastly. And
then this grassy slope, on which we now rode, would show merely as an
insignificant streak of yellow. It is also like that in Arizona.

I have ridden in succession through grass land, brush land, flower
land, desert. Each in turn seemed entirely to fill the space of the
plains between the mountains.

From time to time Homer halted us and detached a man. The business of
the latter was then to ride directly back to camp, driving all cattle
before him. Each was in sight of his right- and left-hand neighbour.
Thus was constructed a drag-net whose meshes contracted as home was

I was detached, when of our party only the Cattleman and Homer
remained. They would take the outside. This was the post of honour,
and required the hardest riding, for as soon as the cattle should
realise the fact of their pursuit, they would attempt to "break" past
the end and up the valley. Brown Jug and I congratulated ourselves on
an exciting morning in prospect.

Now, wild cattle know perfectly well what a drive means, and they do
not intend to get into a round-up if they can help it. Were it not for
the two facts, that they are afraid of a mounted man, and cannot run
quite so fast as a horse, I do not know how the cattle business would
be conducted. As soon as a band of them caught sight of any one of us,
they curled their tails and away they went at a long, easy lope that a
domestic cow would stare at in wonder. This was all very well; in fact
we yelled and shrieked and otherwise uttered cow-calls to keep them
going, to "get the cattle started," as they say. But pretty soon a
little band of the many scurrying away before our thin line, began to
bear farther and farther to the east. When in their judgment they
should have gained an opening, they would turn directly back and make a
dash for liberty. Accordingly the nearest cowboy clapped spurs to his
horse and pursued them.

It was a pretty race. The cattle ran easily enough, with long, springy
jumps that carried them over the ground faster than appearances would
lead one to believe. The cow-pony, his nose stretched out, his ears
slanted, his eyes snapping with joy of the chase, flew fairly "belly to
earth." The rider sat slightly forward, with the cowboy's loose seat.
A whirl of dust, strangely insignificant against the immensity of a
desert morning, rose from the flying group. Now they disappeared in a
ravine, only to scramble out again the next instant, pace undiminished.
The rider merely rose slightly and threw up his elbows to relieve the
jar of the rough gully. At first the cattle seemed to hold their own,
but soon the horse began to gain. In a short time he had come abreast
of the leading animal.

The latter stopped short with a snort, dodged back, and set out at
right angles to his former course. From a dead run the pony came to a
stand in two fierce plunges, doubled like a shot, and was off on the
other tack. An unaccustomed rider would here have lost his seat. The
second dash was short. With a final shake of the head, the steers
turned to the proper course in the direction of the ranch. The pony
dropped unconcernedly to the shuffling jog of habitual progression.

Far away stretched the arc of our cordon. The most distant rider was
a speck, and the cattle ahead of him were like maggots endowed with a
smooth, swift onward motion. As yet the herd had not taken form; it
was still too widely scattered. Its units, in the shape of small
bunches, momently grew in numbers. The distant plains were crawling
and alive with minute creatures making toward a common tiny centre.

Immediately in our front the cattle at first behaved very well. Then
far down the long gentle slope I saw a break for the upper valley. The
manikin that represented Homer at once became even smaller as it
departed in pursuit. The Cattleman moved down to cover Homer's
territory until he should return--and I in turn edged farther to the
right. Then another break from another bunch. The Cattleman rode at
top speed to head it. Before long he disappeared in the distant
mesquite. I found myself in sole charge of a front three miles long.

The nearest cattle were some distance ahead, and trotting along at a
good gait. As they had not yet discovered the chance left open by
unforeseen circumstance, I descended and took in on my cinch while yet
there was time. Even as I mounted, an impatient movement on the part
of experienced Brown Jug told me that the cattle had seen their

I gathered the reins and spoke to the horse. He needed no further
direction, but set off at a wide angle, nicely calculated, to intercept
the truants. Brown Jug was a powerful beast. The spring of his leap
was as whalebone. The yellow earth began to stream past like water.
Always the pace increased with a growing thunder of hoofs. It seemed
that nothing could turn us from the straight line, nothing check the
headlong momentum of our rush. My eyes filled with tears from the wind
of our going. Saddle strings streamed behind. Brown Jug's mane
whipped my bridle band. Dimly I was conscious of soapweed, sacatone,
mesquite, as we passed them. They were abreast and gone before I could
think of them or how they were to be dodged. Two antelope bounded away
to the left; birds rose hastily from the grasses. A sudden chirk,
chirk, chirk, rose all about me. We were in the very centre of a
prairie-dog town, but before I could formulate in my mind the
probabilities of holes and broken legs, the chirk, chirk, chirking had
fallen astern. Brown Jug had skipped and dodged successfully.

We were approaching the cattle. They ran stubbornly and well,
evidently unwilling to be turned until the latest possible moment. A
great rage at their obstinacy took possession of us both. A broad
shallow wash crossed our way, but we plunged through its rocks and
boulders recklessly, angered at even the slight delay they
necessitated. The hardland on the other side we greeted with joy.
Brown Jug extended himself with a snort.

Suddenly a jar seemed to shake my very head loose. I found myself
staring over the horse's head directly down into a deep and precipitous
gully, the edge of which was so cunningly concealed by the grasses as
to have remained invisible to my blurred vision. Brown Jug, however,
had caught sight of it at the last instant, and had executed one of
the wonderful stops possible only to a cow-pony.

But already the cattle had discovered a passage above, and were
scrambling down and across. Brown Jug and I, at more sober pace, slid
off the almost perpendicular bank, and out the other side.

A moment later we had headed them. They whirled, and without the
necessity of any suggestion on my part Brown Jug turned after them, and
so quickly that my stirrup actually brushed the ground.

After that we were masters. We chased the cattle far enough to start
them well in the proper direction, and then pulled down to a walk in
order to get a breath of air.

But now we noticed another band, back on the ground over which we had
just come, doubling through in the direction of Mount Graham. A hard
run set them to rights. We turned. More had poured out from the
hills. Bands were crossing everywhere, ahead and behind. Brown Jug
and I went to work.

Being an indivisible unit, we could chase only one bunch at a time;
and, while we were after one, a half dozen others would be taking
advantage of our preoccupation. We could not hold our own. Each run
after an escaping bunch had to be on a longer diagonal. Gradually we
were forced back, and back, and back; but still we managed to hold the
line unbroken. Never shall I forget the dash and clatter of that
morning. Neither Brown Jug nor I thought for a moment of sparing
horseflesh, nor of picking a route. We made the shortest line, and
paid little attention to anything that stood in the way. A very fever
of resistance possessed us. It was like beating against a head wind,
or fighting fire, or combating in any other of the great forces of
nature. We were quite alone. The Cattleman and Homer had vanished.
To our left the men were fully occupied in marshalling the compact
brown herds that had gradually massed--for these antagonists of mine
were merely outlying remnants.

I suppose Brown Jug must have run nearly twenty miles with only one
check. Then we chased a cow some distance and into the dry bed of a
stream, where she whirled on us savagely. By luck her horn hit only
the leather of my saddle skirts, so we left her; for when a cow has
sense enough to "get on the peck," there is no driving her farther. We
gained nothing, and had to give ground, but we succeeded in holding a
semblance of order, so that the cattle did not break and scatter far
and wide. The sun had by now well risen, and was beginning to shine
hot. Brown Jug still ran gamely and displayed as much interest as
ever, but he was evidently tiring. We were both glad to see Homer's
grey showing in the fringe of mesquite.

Together we soon succeeded in throwing the cows into the main herd.
And, strangely enough, as soon as they had joined a compact band of
their fellows, their wildness left them and, convoyed by outsiders,
they set themselves to plodding energetically toward the home ranch.

As my horse was somewhat winded, I joined the "drag" at the rear. Here
by course of natural sifting soon accumulated all the lazy, gentle, and
sickly cows, and the small calves. The difficulty now was to prevent
them from lagging and dropping out. To that end we indulged in a great
variety of the picturesque cow-calls peculiar to the cowboy. One found
an old tin can which by the aid of a few pebbles he converted into a
very effective rattle.

The dust rose in clouds and eddied in the sun. We slouched easily in
our saddles. The cowboys compared notes as to the brands they had
seen. Our ponies shuffled along, resting, but always ready for a dash
in chase of an occasional bull calf or yearling with independent ideas
of its own.

Thus we passed over the country, down the long gentle slope to the
"sink" of the valley, whence another long gentle slope ran to the base
of the other ranges. At greater or lesser distances we caught the
dust, and made out dimly the masses of the other herds collected by our
companions, and by the party under Jed Parker. They went forward
toward the common centre, with a slow ruminative movement, and the dust
they raised went with them.

Little by little they grew plainer to us, and the home ranch, hitherto
merely a brown shimmer in the distance, began to take on definition as
the group of buildings, windmills, and corrals we knew. Miniature
horsemen could be seen galloping forward to the open white plain where
the herd would be held. Then the mesquite enveloped us; and we knew
little more, save the anxiety lest we overlook laggards in the brush,
until we came out on the edge of that same white plain.

Here were more cattle, thousands of them, and billows of dust, and a
great bellowing, and slim, mounted figures riding and shouting ahead of
the herd. Soon they succeeded in turning the leaders back. These
threw into confusion those that followed. In a few moments the cattle
had stopped. A cordon of horsemen sat at equal distances holding them

"Pretty good haul," said the man next to me; "a good five thousand

Next: Cutting Out

Previous: The Cattle Rustlers

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