Cattle-Ranch to College Page 18

  CHAPTER XVI.

  A BRONCHO BUSTER.

  The Sun River Ranch was a large one, and many cowboys were employed tolook after the stock; practically all the work was done on horseback,the cow-puncher or the ranchman never deigning to go afoot--indeed itwould not have been possible to cover the necessary ground by any othermeans. A great many horses therefore were needed, each cowboy requiringthree or four, especially at those times of the year when they areridden very hard and have to be changed frequently. The care and raisingof the horse herd were consequently very important parts of thecattle-ranch business. The cow-ponies were bred on the ranch and allowedto run free (it being a well-known fact that they would not stray veryfar) until the colts were old enough to break to the saddle, when theywere taken in hand by certain of the men who showed particular skill inthat direction.

  John did not appreciate the full significance of the order to return tothe home ranch till Frank, who seemed to be a walking informationbureau, enlightened him.

  "If you want to go on the horse range Harris will take you," he wasinformed. "It's cleaner work than chasing cows, and there's more moneyin it. Want to go?"

  "You bet," was John's short and emphatic answer. His encounter with thelittle buckskin broncho was exciting and he wanted more; then, too,cattle are tame, stupid creatures compared with horses.

  "Here's your man," said Frank to Harris, the head of the horse outfit,introducing John. "He says he's ready now."

  "Good! You'll find Matt and Jerry in the corral now. Go over and pitchin. There's twenty-five head that I want ridable by the time round-upbegins; that's only a week, and you'll have to work 'em hard."

  And so John became a broncho buster.

  He reached the rough circular enclosure made of split rails laid oneover the other alternately and strongly braced to stand the strain thatwould surely be brought to bear. Inside the corral were abouttwenty-five horses that had not seen a man half a dozen times in theirlives; they were now trying to get as far away as possible from the twomen, Matt and Jerry, and ran frantically around close to the fence thatwalled them in. They were as wild as deer and about as swift.

  _Swish_! hissed the rope. As John climbed the fence it settled over theneck of a big bay. In a second the boy was inside and hanging on withthe other two men to the end of the rope. The bay plunged and tugged,almost frantic with fright and rage, but the three kept their grip andgradually pulled him by jerks away from the bunch and towards thecentre.

  Nearer and nearer he is worked towards the "snubbing post," a stout logstuck upright in the ground; a couple of turns round this holds himfast. Jerry takes in the slack as he plunges and jumps until he facesthe post only a few yards off; then he stops, plants his feet, and setsback on the rope; the tightening noose shuts off his wind, and hewheezes and struggles for a few moments, totters, and falls breathless.Matt springs to his head and sits down on it, the rope is relaxed, andthe poor beast is allowed to breathe again. Matt still holding him down,though he struggles with might and main, John knots the rope looselyround his neck and shoulders, runs it back under the hind fetlock, drawsit tight, pulling the leg up close to the body, and makes it fast. At aword from Jerry, Matt jumps to one side and the bay struggles to hisfeet--helpless, as he has but three legs to stand on. John rubs his necksoothingly, keeping a sharp watch the while for nipping teeth; hebelieves even a horse has some feelings. Matt then takes the noose fromthe neck, and, forcing it into his mouth, leads the end back of theears, makes a half-hitch round the nose, then passes the end through thenoose again--lo! a rough sort of bridle or "hackamore." Taking the looseend, Matt begins to pull the animal's head from side to side until heunderstands that he must follow. The first lesson is, never run againsta rope; it prevents comfortable breathing.

  Saddling comes next. A saddle blanket is thrown over the horse andrubbed gently up and down his back to acquaint him with the feel of it,then comes the saddle; the trappings frighten him and he struggles,trips, and falls. The operation is repeated, until finally the cinchesare drawn and buckled securely. The big bay snorts and trembles in everyfibre, terrified at his bonds, the first he has encountered in his wild,free life--he cannot understand it.

  THE SNUBBING POST HOLDS HIM FAST.]

  JERRY TAKES IN THE SLACK.]

  JOHN KNOTS THE ROPE LOOSELY ROUND HIS NECK. (_Page263._)]

  Matt and Jerry have ridden two wild horses apiece that morning, so Johnvolunteers to tackle the bay. The horse is still thrashing round at agreat rate, but his foot is still tied up and he can do little. Johnreaches up and knots his handkerchief round the poor beast's eyes, thenreleases the foot, mounts quickly into the saddle, and leaning forwardremoves the blindfold. The frightened animal stands still, cowering likea whipped cur or a chicken that sees a hawk circling: above her: heseems to be waiting for the strange, dreadful creature on his back tostrike him some fearful blow or sink its claws into his flesh--dreadinghe knows not what. He bounds forward a few steps--still the burdensticks, and he stops and looks round at it. His fear fades and thecourage and energy of his race return; he determines to get rid of thisthing that clings so tightly. He leaps forward, runs a few yards fulltilt, then stops short, fore legs stiff, hind legs crouching; it's avery sudden jerk, but John hangs on with his knees, leaning far back inthe saddle. Again the horse tries the manoeuvre; no use; he rears onhis hind legs and then on his fore legs; he jumps sideways, bucks,pitches, kicks, without a moment's rest for fifteen minutes. There is nopause, no chance to get a better hold, to take breath; it is acontinuous violent paroxysm of motion. At the end of it the bay iswell-nigh exhausted and all in a tremble, while John, though pretty welljarred, is calm and master of the situation. The horse at lengthsubmits to the superior will, and, magnificent still but now undercontrol, does his best to carry out his master's wishes.

  By the time the bay was well in hand and John was ready to take thesaddle off and let him go free for the rest of the day, Matt and Jerryhad roped another horse and the same tactics were pursued with it. Sothe work was carried through till dark, each man taking his turn ridinghorses that had never been bestrode by a living creature before. Therewas a kind of wild, exhilarating excitement about it, but it wasterribly wearing, and the jar and strain were enough to use up a dozenmen unaccustomed to the work.

  The following day all the horses were ridden again, with less difficultythis time, though they were lively enough to suit any one. Some took aweek's training, some a month's, some were never wholly subdued. To thislatter class belonged the little buckskin "Outlaw," with which John hadhad such a lively time and who made his reputation as a broncho buster.The boy and the horse had much to do with each other for a number ofyears. Their close acquaintanceship came about thus:

  The little buckskin was roped regularly every morning, choked down, andafter a great deal of struggling, saddled; then some one of thecow-punchers would ride him until he was thoroughly exhausted. This wascontinued so long that the little horse became but a bag of bones,chafed and bruised, a wreck, but unbroken in spirit. In spite ofeverything he continued a fighter with each ounce of strength that wasin him--a "dead game horse."

  "He's an outlaw if ever there was one," said Harris one day. "If wecan't give him away we'll have to shoot him, for he's making every otherhorse wild, though he's near ridden to death."

  "Let me have him," said John, who happened to be standing near andoverheard the remark. "He's a dead game little beast and I like him. Ithink I can work him."

  "Take him and welcome, kid," said Harris, with an air of relief. "Thewilder he is the tougher. Tame him and you'll have a star."

  And so John came into possession of the little buckskin, whom he namedappropriately "Lightning" or "Lite." Jerry said, when the question ofgiving him a proper name was under consideration, "I've known severalhorses named Lightning, but I've never seen a hoss as would fit the namelike him." The boy's heart had not so gone out to a horse since Baldy'stime, and though the two ponies were very different in appearance anddispositi
on, in after years John found it hard to tell which he mostcared for.

  Before beginning the training he let up on the terrible strain, theconstant struggle, to which "Lite" had been subjected and allowed him torecuperate; he took care of him himself, and later, when he grewstronger, allowed no one else to ride him. Gradually the horse learnedto know his master and understood that that master would not ill-treathim; and so there grew up a sort of sympathy between them. "Pitch" healways did when John first mounted him, but he soon settled down tosteady business, and a mighty capable beast he proved to be.

  Though John found the wages of a broncho buster good, the work was veryhard, it being the most violent sort of gymnastics all day long. Whennight came he was glad enough to sit down and rest; he would, in fact,not have been sorry to turn in right after supper, but the talk andstories the men told were too good to be lost. It was near round-upseason and the riders were being gathered, preparatory to starting offon that great yearly summing-up expedition. There were men from all overthe United States and Mexico, college-bred men and men of the soil. Noman knew the other's history, nor would any one ask questions. There washardly one but had strange experiences, some of which they told. Thenthere were songs, many of which were familiar to all and thereforepopular. Frank Bridges soon became a favorite with everyone; his goodnature and jolly fellowship won him many friends. Moreover, he had agood voice and was constantly called upon to exhibit his ability.

  It was on a restful evening, after supper was over and the last rays ofthe sun were sinking; the men were lounging about in the mostcomfortable positions they could find; the talk had died down to amonosyllable now and then. Matt, the broncho buster, broke the silence:"Frank, give us the 'Grass of Uncle Sam'; you're the only feller thatcan remember words and tune both."

  And Frank, obliging as always, without any excuses or palavering, sangthe following in a good strong baritone:

  [Music: Now, peo--ple of the East-ern towns, it's lit--tle

  that you know A--bout the West--ern prair-ies: Where the

  beef you eat does grow; Where the hors-es they run wild

  with the mountain-sheep and ram; And the cow-boy

  sleeps con-tent-ed on the grass of Un-cle Sam.]

  THE GRASS OF UNCLE SAM.

  Now, people of the Eastern towns, It's little that you know About the Western prairies: Where the beef you eat does grow; Where the horses they run wild With the mountain-sheep and ram; And the cow-boy sleeps contented On the grass of Uncle Sam.

  We go out onto the round-up To brand the sucking calf. The stranger gets the bucking horse (You bet then we all laugh). He flings his arms towards the sky, His legs get in a jam; He turns a flying somersault On the grass of Uncle Sam.

  The angry bull takes after us With blood in both his eyes; We run, but when his back is turned He gets a big surprise.

  Our ropes jerk out his legs behind And he goes down _kerslam_! We drag the fighting out of him On the grass of Uncle Sam.

  The horse-thief comes along at night To steal our ponies true We're always looking out for him, And sometimes get him, too. We ask him if he's ready And when he says "I am," The bottoms of his feet they itch For the grass of Uncle Sam.

  And when the round-up's over To town we go for fun. The dollars we have hoarded up Are blown in, every one. Then broke, we hit the trail for camp But we don't care a ---- Wages are good when the grass is good, The grass of Uncle Sam.

  Bunch Grass.]

  By the time the singer was half-way through most of the impromptuaudience were singing the familiar air too. Their voices were none toosweet or soft, for the icy blasts of winter and the dust-laden breezesof summer did not tend to improve them; but it was with a right goodwill that they applauded Frank when he finished. The song over, the talkbegan again, quietly, with long pauses, while this man puffed his pipeor that rolled a cigarette. The light had entirely gone out of the skynow, and only the dim glow of the shack lamp through the open doorshowed one man to the other.

  "Well, kid, think you can tame the buckskin?" drawled Jerry lazily.

  "Sure--after a fashion. 'Lite' 'll never be an easy thing; he's got toomuch life in him, but we have got to know each other pretty well now andwe'll get along all right."

  "You get that little horse so's you can ride him and you'll have thebest pony goin'." Matt spoke with conviction.

  The talk grew more and more disjointed, and finally stopped altogether.Then one by one the men stalked without a word into the cabin, and in afew minutes all hands were drinking in the sleep as only thoroughlytired, healthy men can.