Chapter V. A Pigeon Hunt

by Andy Adams

　　The new year dawned on Las Palomas rich in promise of future content.Uncle Lance and I had had a long talk the evening before, and underthe reasoning of the old optimist the gloom gradually lifted from myspirits. I was glad I had been so brutally blunt that evening, regardingwhat Mrs. McLeod had said about him; for it had a tendency to increasethe rancher's aggressiveness in my behalf. "Hell, Tom," said the oldman, as we walked from the corrals to the house, "don't let a littlething like this disturb you. Of course she'll four-flush and bluff youif she can, but you don't want to pay any more attention to the old ladythan if she was some pelado. To be sure, it would be better to haveher consent, but then"--Glenn Gallup also arrived at the ranch on New Year's eve. He broughtthe report that wild pigeons were again roosting at the big bend of theriver. It was a well-known pigeon roost, but the birds went to otherwinter feeding grounds, except during years when there was a plentifulsweet mast. This bend was about midway between the ranch and Shepherd's,contained about two thousand acres, and was heavily timbered with ash,pecan, and hackberry. The feeding grounds lay distant, extending fromthe encinal ridges on the Las Palomas lands to live-oak groves a hundredmiles to the southward. But however far the pigeons might go for food,they always returned to the roosting place at night."That means pigeon pie," said Uncle Lance, on receiving Glenn's report."Everybody and the cook can go. We only have a sweet mast about everythree or four years in the encinal, but it always brings the wildpigeons. We'll take a couple of pack mules and the little and the bigpot and the two biggest Dutch ovens on the ranch. Oh, you got to parboila pigeon if you want a tender pie. Next to a fish fry, a good pigeon piemakes the finest eating going. I've made many a one, and I give noticeright now that the making of the pie falls to me or I won't play. Andanother thing, not a bird shall be killed more than we can use. Ofcourse we'll bring home a mess, and a few apiece for the Mexicans."We had got up our horses during the forenoon, and as soon as dinner wasover the white contingent saddled up and started for the roost. Tiburcioand Enrique accompanied us, and, riding leisurely, we reached the bendseveral hours before the return of the birds. The roost had been inuse but a short time, but as we scouted through the timber there wasabundant evidence of an immense flight of pigeons. The ground wasliterally covered with feathers; broken limbs hung from nearly everytree, while in one instance a forked hackberry had split from the weightof the birds.We made camp on the outskirts of the timber, and at early dusk greatflocks of pigeons began to arrive at their roosting place. We only hadfour shotguns, and, dividing into pairs, we entered the roost shortlyafter dark. Glenn Gallup fell to me as my pardner. I carried the gunnysack for the birds, not caring for a gun in such unfair shooting. Theflights continued to arrive for fully an hour after we entered theroost, and in half a dozen shots we bagged over fifty birds. Rememberingthe admonition of Uncle Lance, Gallup refused to kill more, and we satdown and listened to the rumbling noises of the grove. There was aconstant chattering of the pigeons, and as they settled in great flightsin the trees overhead, whipping the branches with their wings in searchof footing, they frequently fell to the ground at our feet.Gallup and I returned to camp early. Before we had skinned our kill theothers had all come in, disgusted with the ease with which theyhad filled their bags. We soon had two pots filled and on the fireparboiling, while Tiburcio lined two ovens with pastry, all ready forthe baking. In a short time two horsemen, attracted by our fire, crossedthe river below our camp and rode up."Hello, Uncle Lance," lustily shouted one of them, as he dismounted."It's you, is it, that's shooting my pigeons? All right, sir, I'll stayall night and help you eat them. I had figured on riding back to theFrio to-night, but I've changed my mind. Got any horse hobbles here?"The two men, George Nathan and Hugh Trotter, were accommodated withhobbles, and after an exchange of commonplace news of the country, wesettled down to story-telling. Trotter was a convivial acquaintance ofAaron Scales, quite a vagabond and consequently a story-teller. AfterTrotter had narrated a late dream, Scales unlimbered and told one of hisown."I remember a dream I had several years ago, and the only way I canaccount for it was, I had been drinking more or less during the day.I dreamt I was making a long ride across a dreary desert, and towardsnight it threatened a bad storm. I began to look around for someshelter. I could just see the tops of a clump of trees beyond a hill,and rode hard to get to them, thinking that there might be a houseamongst them. How I did ride! But I certainly must have had a poorhorse, for I never seemed to get any nearer that timber. I rode androde, but all this time, hours and hours it seemed, and the stormgathering and scattering raindrops falling, the timber seemed scarcelyany nearer."At last I managed to reach the crest of the hill. Well, sir, therewasn't a tree in sight, only, under the brow of the hill, a desertedadobe jacal, and I rode for that, picketed my horse and went in. Thejacal had a thatched roof with several large holes in it, and in thefireplace burned a roaring fire. That was some strange, but I didn'tmind it and I was warming my hands before the fire and congratulatingmyself on my good luck, when a large black cat sprang from the outsideinto an open window, and said: 'Pardner, it looks like a bad nightoutside.'"I eyed him a little suspiciously; but, for all that, if he hadn'tspoken, I wouldn't have thought anything about it, for I like cats.He walked backward and forward on the window sill, his spine and tailnicely arched, and rubbed himself on either window jamb. I watched himsome little time, and finally concluded to make friends with him. Goingover to the window, I put out my hand to stroke his glossy back, whena gust of rain came through the window and the cat vanished into thedarkness."I went back to the fire, pitying the cat out there in the night'sstorm, and was really sorry I had disturbed him. I didn't give thematter overmuch attention but sat before the fire, wondering who couldhave built it and listening to the rain outside, when all of a suddenMr. Cat walked between my legs, rubbing himself against my boots,purring and singing. Once or twice I thought of stroking his fur, butchecked myself on remembering he had spoken to me on the window sill. Hewould walk over and rub himself against the jambs of the fireplace, andthen come back and rub himself against my boots friendly like. I saw himjust as clear as I see those pots on the fire or these saddles lyingaround here. I was noting every move of his as he meandered around, whenpresently he cocked up an eye at me and remarked: 'Old sport, this is afine fire we have here.'"I was beginning to feel a little creepy, for I'd seen mad dogs andskunks, and they say a cat gets locoed likewise, and the cuss wastalking so cleverly that I began to lose my regard for him. After alittle while I concluded to pet him, for he didn't seem a bit afraid;but as I put out my hand to catch him, he nimbly hopped into the roaringfire and vanished. Then I did feel foolish. I had a good six-shooter,and made up my mind if he showed up again I'd plug him one for luck. Iwas growing sleepy, and it was getting late, so I concluded to spreaddown my saddle blankets and slicker before the fire and go to sleep.While I was making down my bed, I happened to look towards the fire,when there was my black cat, with not even a hair singed. I drew my gunquietly and cracked away at him, when he let out the funniest littlelaugh, saying: 'You've been drinking, Aaron; you're nervous; youcouldn't hit a flock of barns.'"I was getting excited by this time, and cut loose on him rapidly, buthe dodged every shot, jumping from the hearth to the mantel, from themantel to an old table, from there to a niche in the wall, and from theniche clear across the room and out of the window. About then I was somenervous, and after a while lay down before the fire and tried to go tosleep."It was a terrible night outside--one of those nights when you can hearthings; and with the vivid imagination I was enjoying then, I was almostafraid to try to sleep. But just as I was going into a doze, I raisedup my head, and there was my cat walking up and down my frame, his backarched and his tail flirting with the slow sinuous movement of a snake.I reached for my gun, and as it clicked in cocking, he began raking mylegs, sharpening his claws and growling like a tiger. I gave a yell andkicked him off, when he sprang up on the old table and I could see hiseyes glaring at me. I emptied my gun at him a second time, and at everyshot he crouched lower and crept forward as if getting ready to spring.When I had fired the last shot I jumped up and ran out into the rain,and hadn't gone more than a hundred yards before I fell into a dry wash.When I crawled out there was that d----d cat rubbing himself against myboot leg. I stood breathless for a minute, thinking what next to do, andthe cat remarked: 'Wasn't that a peach of a race we just had!'"I made one or two vicious kicks at him and he again vanished. Well,fellows, in that dream I walked around that old jacal all night in myshirt sleeves, and it raining pitchforks. A number of times I peeped inthrough the window or door, and there sat the cat on the hearth, in fullpossession of the shack, and me out in the weather. Once when I lookedin he was missing, but while I was watching he sprang through a holein the roof, alighting in the fire, from which he walked out gingerly,shaking his feet as if he had just been out in the wet. I shot awayevery cartridge I had at him, but in the middle of the shooting he wouldjust coil up before the fire and snooze away."That night was an eternity of torment to me, and I was relieved whensome one knocked on the door, and I awoke to find myself in a good bedand pounding my ear on a goose-hair pillow in a hotel in Oakville. Why,I wouldn't have another dream like that for a half interest in the LasPalomas brand. No, honest, if I thought drinking gave me that hideousdream, here would be one lad ripe for reform.""It strikes me," said Uncle Lance, rising and lifting a pot lid, "thatthese birds are parboiled by this time. Bring me a fork, Enrique. Well,I should say they were. I hope hell ain't any hotter than that fire.Now, Tiburcio, if you have everything ready, we'll put them in the oven,and bake them a couple of hours."Several of us assisted in fixing the fire and properly coaling theovens. When this had been attended to, and we had again resumed our easypositions around the fire, Trotter remarked: "Aaron, you ought to cutdrinking out of your amusements; you haven't the constitution to standit. Now with me it's different. I can drink a week and neversleep; that's the kind of a build to have if you expect to travel andmeet all comers. Last year I was working for a Kansas City man onthe trail, and after the cattle were delivered about a hundred milesbeyond,--Ellsworth, up in Kansas,--he sent us home by way of KansasCity. In fact, that was about the only route we could take. Well, it wasa successful trip, and as this man was plum white, anyhow, he concludedto show us the sights around his burg. He was interested in a commissionfirm out at the stockyards, and the night we reached there all theoffice men, including the old man himself, turned themselves loose toshow us a good time."We had been drinking alkali water all summer, and along about midnightthey began to drop out until there was no one left to face the musicexcept a little cattle salesman and myself. After all the others quitus, we went into a feed trough on a back street, and had a good supper.I had been drinking everything like a good fellow, and at several placesthere was no salt to put in the beer. The idea struck me that I wouldbuy a sack of salt from this eating ranch and take it with me. Thelandlord gave me a funny look, but after some little parley went to therear and brought out a five-pound sack of table salt."It was just what I wanted, and after paying for it the salesman andI started out to make a night of it. This yard man was a short, fatDutchman, and we made a team for your whiskers. I carried the sack ofsalt under my arm, and the quantity of beer we killed before daylightwas a caution. About daybreak, the salesman wanted me to go to ourhotel and go to bed, but as I never drink and sleep at the same time,I declined. Finally he explained to me that he would have to be at theyards at eight o'clock, and begged me to excuse him. By this time he wasseveral sheets in the wind, while I could walk a chalk line without awaver. Somehow we drifted around to the hotel where the outfit weresupposed to be stopping, and lined up at the bar for a final drink.It was just daybreak, and between that Dutch cattle salesman and thebarkeeper and myself, it would have taken a bookkeeper to have kept acheck on the drinks we consumed--every one the last."Then the Dutchman gave me the slip and was gone, and I wandered intothe office of the hotel. A newsboy sold me a paper, and the next minutea bootblack wanted to give me a shine. Well, I took a seat for a shine,and for two hours I sat there as full as a tick, and as dignified asa judge on the bench. All the newsboys and bootblacks caught on, andbefore any of the outfit showed up that morning to rescue me, I hadbought a dozen papers and had my boots shined for the tenth time. If I'dbeen foxy enough to have got rid of that sack of salt, no one could havetold I was off the reservation; but there it was under my arm. If everI make another trip over the trail, and touch at Kansas City returning,I'll hunt up that cattle salesman, for he's the only man I ever met thatcan pace in my class.""Did you hear that tree break a few minutes ago?" inquired Mr. Nathan."There goes another one. It hardly looks possible that enough pigeonscould settle on a tree to break it down. Honestly, I'd give a purty toknow how many birds are in that roost to-night. More than there arecattle in Texas, I'll bet. Why, Hugh killed, with both barrels,twenty-two at one shot."We had brought blankets along, but it was early and no one thought ofsleeping for an hour yet. Mr. Nathan was quite a sportsman, and after heand Uncle Lance had discussed the safest method of hunting javalina,it again devolved on the boys to entertain the party with stories."I was working on a ranch once," said Glenn Gallup, "out on the ConchoRiver. It was a stag outfit, there being few women then out Concho way.One day two of the boys were riding in home when an accident occurred.They had been shooting more or less during the morning, and one of them,named Bill Cook, had carelessly left the hammer of his six-shooter on acartridge. As Bill jumped his horse over a dry arroyo, his pistolwas thrown from its holster, and, falling on the hard ground, wasdischarged. The bullet struck him in the ankle, ranged upward,shattering the large bone in his leg into fragments, and finally lodgedin the saddle."They were about five miles from camp when the accident happened. Afterthey realized how bad he was hurt, Bill remounted his horse and rodenearly a mile; but the wound bled so then that the fellow with himinsisted on his getting off and lying on the ground while he went intothe ranch for a wagon. Well, it's to be supposed that he lost no timeriding in, and I was sent to San Angelo for a doctor. It was justnoon when I got off. I had to ride thirty miles. Talk about your goodhorses--I had one that day. I took a free gait from the start, but thelast ten miles was the fastest, for I covered the entire distance inless than three hours. There was a doctor in the town who'd been on thefrontier all of his life, and was used to such calls. Well, before darkthat evening we drove into the ranch."They had got the lad into the ranch, had checked the flow of blood andeased the pain by standing on a chair and pouring water on the woundfrom a height. But Bill looked pale as a ghost from the loss of blood.The doctor gave the leg a single look, and, turning to us, said: 'Boys,she has to come off.'"The doctor talked to Bill freely and frankly, telling him that it wasthe only chance for his life. He readily consented to the operation, andwhile the doctor was getting him under the influence of opiates we fixedup an operating table. When all was ready, the doctor took the leg offbelow the knee, cursing us generally for being so sensitive to cuttingand the sight of blood. There was quite a number of boys at the ranch,but it affected them all alike. It was interesting to watch him cut andtie arteries and saw the bones, and I think I stood it better than anyof them. When the operation was over, we gave the fellow the best bedthe ranch afforded and fixed him up comfortable. The doctor took thebloody stump and wrapped it up in an old newspaper, saying he would takeit home with him."After supper the surgeon took a sleep, saying we would start back totown by two o'clock, so as to be there by daylight. He gave instructionsto call him in case Bill awoke, but he hoped the boy would take a goodsleep. As I had left my horse in town, I was expected to go back withhim. Shortly after midnight the fellow awoke, so we aroused the doctor,who reported him doing well. The old Doc sat by his bed for an hour andtold him all kinds of stories. He had been a surgeon in the Confederatearmy, and from the drift of his talk you'd think it was impossible tokill a man without cutting off his head."'Now take a young fellow like you,' said the doctor to his patient,'if he was all shot to pieces, just so the parts would hang together, Icould fix him up and he would get well. You have no idea, son, how muchlead a young man can carry.' We had coffee and lunch before starting,the doctor promising to send me back at once with necessary medicines."We had a very pleasant trip driving back to town that night. Thestories he could tell were like a song with ninety verses, no two alike.It was hardly daybreak when we reached San Angelo, rustled out a sleepyhostler at the livery stable where the team belonged, and had the horsescared for; and as we left the stable the doctor gave me his instrumentcase, while he carried the amputated leg in the paper. We both felt theneed of a bracer after our night's ride, so we looked around to see ifany saloons were open. There was only one that showed any signs of life,and we headed for that. The doctor was in the lead as we entered, andwe both knew the barkeeper well. This barkeeper was a practical jokerhimself, and he and the doctor were great hunting companions. We walkedup to the bar together, when the doctor laid the package on the counterand asked: 'Is this good for two drinks?' The barkeeper, with a lookof expectation in his face as if the package might contain half a dozenquail or some fresh fish, broke the string and unrolled it. Without aword he walked straight from behind the bar and out of the house. If hehad been shot himself he couldn't have looked whiter."The doctor went behind the bar and said: 'Glenn, what are you going totake?' 'Let her come straight, doctor,' was my reply, and we both tookthe same. We had the house all to ourselves, and after a second roundof drinks took our leave. As we left by the front door, we saw thebarkeeper leaning against a hitching post half a block below. The doctorcalled to him as we were leaving: 'Billy, if the drinks ain't on you,charge them to me.'"The moon was just rising, and at Uncle Lance's suggestion we eachcarried in a turn of wood. Piling a portion of it on the fire, the blazesoon lighted up the camp, throwing shafts of light far into the recessesof the woods around us. "In another hour," said Uncle Lance, recoalingthe oven lids, "that smaller pie will be all ready to serve, but we'llkeep the big one for breakfast. So, boys, if you want to sit up awhilelonger, we'll have a midnight lunch, and then all turn in for aboutforty winks." As the oven lid was removed from time to time to takenote of the baking, savory odors of the pie were wafted to our anxiousnostrils. On the intimation that one oven would be ready in an hour, nota man suggested blankets, and, taking advantage of the lull, TheodoreQuayle claimed attention."Another fellow and myself," said Quayle, "were knocking around FortWorth one time seeing the sights. We had drunk until it didn't tasteright any longer. This chum of mine was queer in his drinking. If heever got enough once, he didn't want any more for several days: youcould cure him by offering him plenty. But with just the right amount onboard, he was a hail fellow. He was a big, ambling, awkward cuss, whocould be led into anything on a hint or suggestion. We had been knockingaround the town for a week, until there was nothing new to be seen."Several times as we passed a millinery shop, kept by a little blonde,we had seen her standing at the door. Something--it might have beenhis ambling walk, but, anyway, something--about my chum amused her,for she smiled and watched him as we passed. He never could walk alongbeside you for any distance, but would trail behind and look into thewindows. He could not be hurried--not in town. I mentioned to him thathe had made a mash on the little blond milliner, and he at onceinsisted that I should show her to him. We passed down on the oppositeside of the street and I pointed out the place. Then we walked by severaltimes, and finally passed when she was standing in the doorway talkingto some customers. As we came up he straightened himself, caught her eye,and tipped his hat with the politeness of a dancing master. She blushedto the roots of her hair, and he walked on very erect some littledistance, then we turned a corner and held a confab. He was for playingthe whole string, discount or no discount, anyway."An excuse to go in was wanting, but we thought we could invent one;however, he needed a drink or two to facilitate his thinking and loosenhis tongue. To get them was easier than the excuse; but with the drinksthe motive was born. 'You wait here,' said he to me, 'until I go roundto the livery stable and get my coat off my saddle.' He never encumberedhimself with extra clothing. We had not seen our horses, saddles, orany of our belongings during the week of our visit. When he returned heinquired, 'Do I need a shave?'"'Oh, no,' I said, 'you need no shave. You may have a drink too many,or lack one of having enough. It's hard to make a close calculation onyou.'"'Then I'm all ready,' said he, 'for I've just the right gauge ofsteam.' He led the way as we entered. It was getting dark and the shopwas empty of customers. Where he ever got the manners, heaven onlyknows. Once inside the door we halted, and she kept a counter between usas she approached. She ought to have called the police and had us runin. She was probably scared, but her voice was fairly steady as shespoke. 'Gentlemen, what can I do for you?'"'My friend here,' said he, with a bow and a wave of the hand, 'wasunfortunate enough to lose a wager made between us. The terms of thebet were that the loser was to buy a new hat for one of the dining-roomgirls at our hotel. As we are leaving town to-morrow, we have justdropped in to see if you have anything suitable. We are both totallyincompetent to decide on such a delicate matter, but we will trustentirely to your judgment in the selection.' The milliner was quitecollected by this time, as she asked: 'Any particular style?--and aboutwhat price?'"'The price is immaterial,' said he disdainfully. 'Any man who willwager on the average weight of a train-load of cattle, his own cattle,mind you, and miss them twenty pounds, ought to pay for his lack ofjudgment. Don't you think so, Miss--er--er. Excuse me for being unableto call your name--but--but--' 'De Ment is my name,' said she with somelittle embarrassment."'Livingstone is mine,' said he with a profound bow,' and this gentlemanis Mr. Ochiltree, youngest brother of Congressman Tom. Now regarding thestyle, we will depend entirely upon your selection. But possibly theloser is entitled to some choice in the matter. Mr. Ochiltree, have youany preference in regard to style?'"'Why, no, I can generally tell whether a hat becomes a lady or not, butas to selecting one I am at sea. We had better depend on Miss De Ment'sjudgment. Still, I always like an abundance of flowers on a lady's hat.Whenever a girl walks down the street ahead of me, I like to watch theposies, grass, and buds on her hat wave and nod with the motion of herwalk. Miss De Ment, don't you agree with me that an abundance of flowersbecomes a young lady? And this girl can't be over twenty.'"'Well, now,' said she, going into matters in earnest, 'I can scarcelyadvise you. Is the young lady a brunette or blonde?'"'What difference does that make?' he innocently asked."'Oh,' said she, smiling, 'we must harmonize colors. What would suit onecomplexion would not become another. What color is her hair?'"'Nearly the color of yours,' said he. 'Not so heavy and lacks thenatural wave which yours has--but she's all right. She can ride a stringof my horses until they all have sore backs. I tell you she is a cutetrick. But, say, Miss De Ment, what do you think of a green hat, broadbrimmed, turned up behind and on one side, long black feathers run roundand turned up behind, with a blue bird on the other side swooping downlike a pigeon hawk, long tail feathers and an arrow in its beak? Thatstrikes me as about the mustard. What do you think of that kind of ahat, dear?'"'Why, sir, the colors don't harmonize,' she replied, blushing."'Theodore, do you know anything about this harmony of colors? Excuseme, madam,--and I crave your pardon, Mr. Ochiltree, for using your givenname,--but really this harmony of colors is all French to me.'"'Well, if the young lady is in town, why can't you have her drop inand make her own selection?' suggested the blond milliner. He studied amoment, and then awoke as if from a trance. 'Just as easy as not; thisvery evening or in the morning. Strange we didn't think of that sooner.Yes; the landlady of the hotel can join us, and we can count on yourassistance in selecting the hat.' With a number of comments on herattractive place, inquiries regarding trade, and a flattering complimenton having made such a charming acquaintance, we edged towards the door.'This evening then, or in the morning at the farthest, you may expectanother call, when my friend must pay the penalty of his folly bysettling the bill. Put it on heavy.' And he gave her a parting wink."Together we bowed ourselves out, and once safe in the street he said:'Didn't she help us out of that easy? If she wasn't a blonde, I'd goback and buy her two hats for suggesting it as she did.'"'Rather good looking too,' I remarked."'Oh, well, that's a matter of taste. I like people with red blood inthem. Now if you was to saw her arm off, it wouldn't bleed; just alittle white water might ooze out, possibly. The best-looking girl Iever saw was down in the lower Rio Grande country, and she was milkinga goat. Theodore, my dear fellow, when I'm led blushingly to the altar,you'll be proud of my choice. I'm a judge of beauty.'"It was after midnight when we disposed of the first oven of pigeonpot-pie, and, wrapping ourselves in blankets, lay down around the fire.With the first sign of dawn, we were aroused by Mr. Nathan and UncleLance to witness the return flight of the birds to their feedinggrounds. Hurrying to the nearest opening, we saw the immense flight ofpigeons blackening the sky overhead. Stiffened by their night's rest,they flew low; but the beauty and immensity of the flight overawed us,and we stood in mute admiration, no one firing a shot. For fully ahalf-hour the flight continued, ending in a few scattering birds.