Chapter XIV. A Two Years' Drouth

by Andy Adams

　　The spring of '78 was an early one, but the drouth continued, and afterthe hide hunting was over we rode our range almost night and day.Thousands of cattle had drifted down from the Frio River country, whichsection was suffering from drouth as badly as the Nueces. The new wellswere furnishing a limited supply of water, but we rigged pulleys on thebest of them, and when the wind failed we had recourse to buckets and arope worked from the pommel of a saddle. A breeze usually arose aboutten in the morning and fell about midnight. During the lull the bucketsrose and fell incessantly at eight wells, with no lack of sufferingcattle in attendance to consume it as fast as it was hoisted. Manythirsty animals gorged themselves, and died in sight of the well; weakones being frequently trampled to death by the stronger, while flinthides were corded at every watering point. The river had quit flowing,and with the first warmth of spring the pools became rancid andstagnant. In sandy and subirrigated sections, under a March sun, thegrass made a sickly effort to spring; but it lacked substance, and sofar from furnishing food for the cattle, it only weakened them.This was my first experience with a serious drouth. Uncle Lance,however, met the emergency as though it were part of the day's work,riding continually with the rest of us. During the latter part of March,Aaron Scales, two vaqueros, and myself came in one night from the Gansoand announced not over a month's supply of water in that creek. We alsoreported to our employer that during our two days' ride, we had skinnedsome ten cattle, four of which were in our own brand."That's not as bad as it might be," said the old ranchero,philosophically. "You see, boys, I've been through three drouths sinceI began ranching on this river. The second one, in '51, was the worst;cattle skulls were as thick along the Nueces that year as sunflowers inAugust. In '66 it was nearly as bad, there being more cattle; but itdidn't hurt me very much, as mavericking had been good for some timebefore and for several years following, and I soon recovered my losses.The first one lasted three years, and had there been as many cattleas there are now, half of them would have died. The spring before thesecond drouth, I acted as padrino for Tiburcio and his wife, who wasat that time a mere slip of a girl living at the Mission. Before theyhad time to get married, the dry spell set in and they put the weddingoff until it should rain. I ridiculed the idea, but they were bothsuperstitious and stuck it out. And honest, boys, there wasn't enoughrain fell in two years to wet your shirt. In my forty years on theNueces, I've seen hard times, but that drouth was the toughest of themall. Game and birds left the country, and the cattle were too poor toeat. Whenever our provisions ran low, I sent Tiburcio to the coast witha load of hides, using six yoke of oxen to handle a cargo of about aton. The oxen were so poor that they had to stand twice in one placeto make a shadow, and we wouldn't take gold for our flint hides butinsisted on the staples of life. At one point on the road, Tiburcio hadto give a quart of flour for watering his team both going and coming.They say that when the Jews quit a country, it's time for the gentilesto leave. But we old timers are just like a horse that chooses a newrange and will stay with it until he starves or dies with old age."I could see nothing reassuring in the outlook. Near the wells and alongthe river the stock had trampled out the grass until the ground was asbare as a city street. Miles distant from the water the old dry grass,with only an occasional green blade, was the only grazing for thecattle. The black, waxy soil on the first bottom of the river, on whichthe mesquite grass had flourished, was as bare now as a ploughed field,while the ground had cracked open in places to an incredible depth, sothat without exercising caution it was dangerous to ride across. Thiswas the condition of the range at the approach of April. Our horsestock, to be sure, fared better, ranging farther and not requiringanything like the amount of water needed by the cattle. It was nothingunusual to meet a Las Palomas manada from ten to twelve miles from theriver, and coming in only every second or third night to quench theirthirst. We were fortunate in having an abundance of saddle horses,which, whether under saddle or not, were always given the preference inthe matter of water. They were the motive power of the ranch, and duringthis crisis, though worked hard, must be favored in every possiblemanner.Early that spring the old ranchero sent Deweese to Lagarto in an attemptto sell Captain Byler a herd of horse stock for the trail. The missionwas a failure, though our segundo offered to sell a thousand, in thestraight Las Palomas brand, at seven dollars a head on a year's credit.Even this was no inducement to the trail drover, and on Deweese's returnmy employer tried San Antonio and other points in Texas in the hope offinding a market. From several places favorable replies were received,particularly from places north of the Colorado River; for the drouth waslocal and was chiefly confined to the southern portion of the state.There was enough encouragement in the letters to justify the oldranchero's attempt to reduce the demand on the ranch's water supply, bysending a herd of horse stock north on sale. Under ordinary conditions,every ranchman preferred to sell his surplus stock at the ranch, andLas Palomas was no exception, being generally congested with marketableanimals. San Antonio was, however, beginning to be a local horse andmule market of some moment, and before my advent several small selectedbunches of mares, mules, and saddle horses had been sent there, and hadfound a ready and profitable sale.But this was an emergency year, and it was decided to send a herd ofstock horses up the country. Accordingly, before April, we worked everymanada which we expected to keep, cutting out all the two-year-oldfillies. To these were added every mongrel-colored band to the number oftwenty odd, and when ready to start the herd numbered a few over twelvehundred of all ages from yearlings up. A remuda of fifty saddlehorses, broken in the spring of '76, were allotted to our use, and oursegundo, myself, and five Mexican vaqueros were detailed to drivethe herd. We were allowed two pack mules for our commissary, which wasdriven with the remuda. With instructions to sell and hurry home, weleft our horse camp on the river, and started on the morning of the lastday of March.Live-stock commission firms in San Antonio were notified of our coming,and with six men to the herd and the seventh driving the remuda, weput twenty miles behind us the first day. With the exception of waterfor saddle stock, which we hoisted from a well, there was no hope ofwatering the herd before reaching Mr. Booth's ranch on the Frio. Hehad been husbanding his water supply, and early the second evening wewatered the herd to its contentment from a single shaded pool. From theFrio we could not follow any road, but were compelled to direct ourcourse wherever there was a prospect of water. By hobbling the bell mareof the remuda at evening, and making two watches of the night-herding,we easily systematized our work. Until we reached the San Antonio River,about twenty miles below the city, not over two days passed withoutwater for all the stock, though, on account of the variations from ourcourse, we were over a week in reaching San Antonio. Having moved theherd up near some old missions within five or six miles of the city,with an abundance of water and some grass, Deweese went into town,visiting the commission firms and looking for a buyer. Fortunately afirm, which was expecting our arrival, had a prospective purchaser fromFort Worth for about our number. Making a date with the firm to show ourhorses the next morning, our segundo returned to the herd, elated overthe prospect of a sale.On their arrival the next morning, we had the horses already watered andwere grazing them along an abrupt slope between the first and secondbottoms of the river. The salesman understood his business, and drovethe conveyance back and forth on the down hill side, below the herd,and the rise in the ground made our range stock look as big as Americanhorses. After looking at the animals for an hour, from a buckboard, theprospective buyer insisted on looking at the remuda. But as these weregentle, he gave them a more critical examination, insisting on theirbeing penned in a rope corral at our temporary camp, and had everyhorse that was then being ridden unsaddled to inspect their backs. Theremuda was young, gentle, and sound, many of them submitting to becaught without a rope. The buyer was pleased with them, and when theprice came up for discussion Deweese artfully set a high figure on thesaddle stock, and, to make his bluff good, offered to reserve them andtake them back to the ranch. But Tuttle would not consider the herdwithout the remuda, and sparring between them continued until allthree returned to town.It was a day of expectancy to the vaqueros and myself. In examining thesaddle horses, the buyer acted like a cowman; but as regarding the rangestock, it was evident to me that his armor was vulnerable, and if he gotany the best of our segundo he was welcome to it. Deweese returnedshortly after dark, coming directly to the herd where I and two vaqueroswere on guard, to inform us that he had sold lock, stock, and barrel,including the two pack mules. I felt like shouting over the good news,when June threw a damper on my enthusiasm by the news that he had soldfor delivery at Fort Worth."You see," said Deweese, by way of explanation, "the buyer is foremanof a cattle company out on the forks of the Brazos in Young County. Hedon't sabe range horses as well as he does cows, and when we had agreedon the saddle stock, and there were only two bits between us on theherd, he offered me six bits a head all round, over and above his offer,if I would put them in Fort Worth, and I took him up so quick that Inearly bit my tongue doing it. Captain Redman tells me that it's onlyabout three hundred miles, and grass and water is reported good. Iintended to take him up at his offer, anyhow, and seventy-five cents ahead extra will make the old man nearly a thousand dollars, which isworth picking up. We'll put them there easy in three weeks, learn thetrail and see the country besides. Uncle Lance can't have any kickcoming, for I offered them to Captain Byler for seven dollars, and hereI'm getting ten six-bits--nearly four thousand dollars' advance, and wewon't be gone five weeks. Any money down? Well, I should remark! Fivethousand deposited with Smith & Redman, and I was particular to have itinserted in the contract between us that every saddle horse, mare, mule,gelding, and filly was to be in the straight 'horse hoof' brand. Thereis a possibility that when Tuttle sees them again at Fort Worth, theywon't look as large as they did on that hillside this morning."We made an early start from San Antonio the next morning, passing to thewestward of the then straggling city. The vaqueros were disturbedover the journey, for Fort Worth was as foreign to them as a Europeanseaport, but I jollied them into believing it was but a little pasear.Though I had never ridden on a train myself, I pictured to them theluxuriant ease with which we would return, as well as the trip by stageto Oakville. I threw enough enthusiasm into my description of the goodtime we were going to have, coupled with their confidence in Deweese, toconvince them in spite of their forebodings. Our segundo humored themin various ways, and after a week on the trail, water getting plentiful,using two guards, we only herded until midnight, turning the herd loosefrom then until daybreak. It usually took us less than an hour to gatherand count them in the morning, and encouraged by their contentment, afew days later, we loose-herded until darkness and then turned themfree. From then on it was a picnic as far as work was concerned, and oursaddle horses and herd improved every day.After crossing the Colorado River, at every available chance en route wemailed a letter to the buyer, notifying him of our progress as we sweptnorthward. When within a day's drive of the Brazos, we mailed our lastletter, giving notice that we would deliver within three days of date.On reaching that river, we found it swimming for between thirty andforty yards; but by tying up the pack mules and cutting the herd intofour bunches, we swam the Brazos with less than an hour's delay.Overhauling and transferring the packs to horses, throwing awayeverything but the barest necessities, we crossed the lightenedcommissary, the freed mules swimming with the remuda. On the morningof the twentieth day out from San Antonio, our segundo rode into thefort ahead of the herd. We followed at our regular gait, and near themiddle of the forenoon were met by Deweese and Tuttle, who piloted us toa pasture west of the city, where an outfit was encamped to receive theherd. They numbered fifteen men, and looked at our insignificant crowdwith contempt; but the count which followed showed we had not lost ahoof since we left the Nueces, although for the last ten nights thestock had had the fullest freedom.The receiving outfit looked the brands over carefully. The splendidgrass and water of the past two weeks had transformed the famishing herdof a month before, and they were received without a question. Roundingin our remuda for fresh mounts before starting to town, the vaquerosand I did some fancy roping in catching out the horses, partially fromsheer lightness of heart because we were at our journey's end, andpartially to show this north Texas outfit that we were like theproverbial singed cat--better than we looked. Two of Turtle's men rodeinto town with us that evening to lead back our mounts, the outfithaving come in purposely to receive the horse herd and drive it to theirranch in Young County. While riding in, they thawed nicely towards us,but kept me busy interpreting for them with our Mexicans. Tuttle andDeweese rode together in the lead, and on nearing town one of thestrangers bantered Pasquale to sell him a nice maguey rope which thevaquero carried. When I interpreted the other's wish to him, Pasqualeloosened the lasso and made a present of it to Tuttle's man. I hadalmost as good a rope of the same material, which I presented to theother lad with us, and the drinks we afterward consumed over this slighttestimony of the amicable relations existing between a northern andsouthern Texas outfit over the delivery and receiving of a horse herd,showed no evidence of a drouth. The following morning I made inquiry forFrank Nancrede and the drovers who had driven a trail herd of cattlefrom Las Palomas two seasons before. They were all well known about thefort, but were absent at the time, having put up two trail herds thatspring in Uvalde County. Deweese did not waste an hour more than wasnecessary in that town, and while waiting for the banks to open,arranged for our transportation to San Antonio. We were all ready tostart back before noon. Fort Worth was a frontier town at the time,bustling and alert with live-stock interests; but we were anxious to gethome, and promptly boarded a train for the south. After entering thetrain, our segundo gave each of the vaqueros and myself some spendingmoney, the greater portion of which went to the "butcher" for fruits. Hewas an enterprising fellow and took a marked interest in our comfort andwelfare. But on nearing San Antonio after midnight, he attempted to sellus our choice of three books, between the leaves of one of which hehad placed a five-dollar bill and in another a ten, and offered us ourchoice for two dollars, and June Deweese became suddenly interested.Coming over to where we were sitting, he knocked the books on thefloor, kicked them under a seat, and threatened to bend a gun over thebutcher's head unless he made himself very scarce. Then reminding usthat "there were tricks in all trades but ours," he kept an eye over usuntil we reached the city.We were delayed another day in San Antonio, settling with the commissionfirm and banking the money. The next morning we took stage for Oakville,where we arrived late at night. When a short distance out of San AntonioI inquired of our driver who would relieve him beyond Pleasanton, andwas gratified to hear that his name was not Jack Martin. Not that I hadanything particular against Martin, but I had no love for his wife, andhad no desire to press the acquaintance any further with her or herhusband. On reaching Oakville, we were within forty miles of LasPalomas. We had our saddles with us, and early the next morning triedto hire horses; but as the stage company domineered the village we wereunable to hire saddle stock, and on appealing to the only livery in townwe were informed that Bethel & Oxenford had the first claim on theirconveyances. Accordingly Deweese and I visited the offices of thestage company, where, to our surprise, we came face to face with JackOxenford. I do not think he knew us, though we both knew him at aglance. Deweese made known his wants, but only asked for a conveyance asfar as Shepherd's. Yankeelike, Oxenford had to know who we were, wherewe had been, and where we were going. Our segundo gave him rather ashort answer, but finally admitted that we belonged at Las Palomas. Thenthe junior member of the mail contractors became arrogant, claiming thatthe only conveyance capable of carrying our party was being held for asheriff with some witnesses. On second thought he offered to send usto the ferry by two lighter vehicles in consideration of five dollarsapiece, insolently remarking that we could either pay it or walk. I willnot repeat Deweese's reply, which I silently endorsed.With the soil of the Nueces valley once more under our feet we feltindependent. On returning to the vaqueros, we found a stranger amongthem, Bernabe Cruze by name, who was a muy amigo of Santiago Ortez,one of our Mexicans. He belonged at the Mission, and when he learned ofour predicament offered to lend us his horse, as he expected to be intown a few days. The offer was gratefully accepted, and within a quarterof an hour Manuel Flores had started for Shepherd's with an order to themerchant to send in seven horses for us. It was less than a two hours'ride to the ferry, and with the early start we expected Manuel to returnbefore noon. Making ourselves at home in a coffeehouse conducted by aMexican, Deweese ordered a few bottles of wine to celebrate properlyour drive and to entertain Cruze and our vaqueros. Before the horsesarrived, those of us who had any money left spent it in the cantina,not wishing to carry it home, where it would be useless. The result wasthat on the return of Flores with mounts we were all about three sheetsin the wind, reckless and defiant.After saddling up, I suggested to June that we ride by the stage officeand show Mr. Oxenford that we were independent of him. The stage standand office were on the outskirts of the scattered village, and while wecould have avoided it, our segundo willingly led the way, and calledfor the junior member of the firm. A hostler came to the door andinformed us that Mr. Oxenford was not in."Then I'll just leave my card," said Deweese, dismounting. Taking abrown cigarette paper from his pocket, he wrote his name on it; thenpulling a tack from a notice pasted beside the office door, he drew hissix-shooter, and with it deftly tacked the cigarette paper against theoffice door jamb. Remounting his horse, and perfectly conscious thatOxenford was within hearing, he remarked to the hostler: "When yourboss returns, please tell him that those fellows from Las Palomas willneither walk with him nor ride with him. We thought he might fret as tohow we were to get home, and we have just ridden by to tell him thathe need feel no uneasiness. Since I have never had the pleasure of anintroduction to him, I've put my name on that cigarette paper. Good-day,sir."Arriving at Shepherd's, we rested several hours, and on the suggestionof the merchant changed horses before starting home. At the ferry welearned that there had been no serious loss of cattle so far, but thatnearly all the stock from the Frio and San Miguel had drifted across tothe Nueces. We also learned that the attendance on San Jacinto Day hadbeen extremely light, not a person from Las Palomas being present, whilethe tournament for that year had been abandoned. During our ride up theriver before darkness fell, we passed a strange medley of brands, manyof which Deweese assured me were owned from fifty to a hundred miles tothe north and west. Riding leisurely, it was nearly midnight when wesighted the ranch and found it astir. An extra breeze had been blowing,and the vaqueros were starting to their work at the wells in order tobe on hand the moment the wind slackened. Around the two wells atheadquarters were over a thousand cattle, whose constant moaning reachedour ears over a mile from the ranch.Our return was like entering a house of mourning. Miss Jean barelygreeted Deweese and myself, while Uncle Lance paced the gallery withoutmaking a single inquiry as to what had become of the horse herd. On themistress's orders, servants set out a cold luncheon, and disappeared,as if in the presence of death, without a word of greeting. Everthoughtful, Miss Jean added several little delicacies to our plain meal,and, seating herself at the table with us, gave us a clear outline ofthe situation. In seventy odd miles of the meanderings of the riveracross our range, there was not a pool to the mile with water enough fora hundred cattle. The wells were gradually becoming weaker, yieldingless water every week, while of four new ones which were commencedbefore our departure, two were dry and worthless. The vaqueros were thenskinning on an average forty dead cattle a day, fully a half of whichwere in the Las Palomas brand. Sympathetically as a sister could, sheaccounted for her brother's lack of interest in our return by hisanxiety and years, and she cautioned us to let no evil report reach hisears, as this drouth had unnerved him.Deweese at once resumed his position on the ranch, and the next morningthe ranchero held a short council with him, authorizing him to spareno expense to save the cattle. Deweese returned the borrowed horses byEnrique, and sent a letter to the merchant at the ferry, directing himto secure and send at least twenty men to Las Palomas. The first dayafter our return, we rode the mills and the river. Convinced that tosink other wells on the mesas would be fruitless, the foreman decidedto dig a number of shallow ones in the bed of the river, in the hope ofcatching seepage water. Accordingly the next morning, I was sent witha commissary wagon and seven men to the mouth of the Ganso, withinstructions to begin sinking wells about two miles apart. Takingwith us such tools as we needed, we commenced our first well at theconfluence of the Ganso with the Nueces, and a second one above. Fromtimber along the river we cut the necessary temporary curbing, and putit in place as the wells were sunk. On the third day both wells becameso wet as to impede our work, and on our foreman riding by, he orderedthem curbed to the bottom and a tripod set up over them on which to riga rope and pulley. The next morning troughs and rigging, with a remudaof horses and a watering crew of four strange vaqueros, arrived. Thewells were only about twenty feet deep; but by drawing the water as fastas the seepage accumulated, each was capable of watering several hundredhead of cattle daily. By this time Deweese had secured ample help, andstarted a second crew of well diggers opposite the ranch, who workeddown the river while my crew followed some fifteen miles above. Bythe end of the month of May, we had some twenty temporary wells inoperation, and these, in addition to what water the pools afforded,relieved the situation to some extent, though the ravages of death bythirst went on apace among the weaker cattle.With the beginning of June, we were operating nearly thirty wells. Insome cases two vaqueros could hoist all the water that accumulated inthree wells. We had a string of camps along the river, and at everywindmill on the mesas men were stationed night and day. Among thecattle, the death rate was increasing all over the range. Frequently wetook over a hundred skins in a single day, while at every camp cords offallen flint hides were accumulating. The heat of summer was upon us,the wind arose daily, sand storms and dust clouds swept across thecountry, until our once prosperous range looked like a desert, witheredand accursed. Young cows forsook their offspring in the hour of theirbirth. Motherless calves wandered about the range, hollow-eyed, theirpiteous appeals unheeded, until some lurking wolf sucked their blood andspread a feast to the vultures, constantly wheeling in great flightsoverhead. The prickly pear, an extremely arid plant, affording both foodand drink to herds during drouths, had turned white, blistered bythe torrid sun until it had fallen down, lifeless. The chaparral wasdestitute of foliage, and on the divides and higher mesas, had died. Thenative women stripped their jacals of every sacred picture, and hungthem on the withered trees about their doors, where they hourly prayedto their patron saints. In the humblest homes on Las Palomas, candlesburned both night and day to appease the frowning Deity.The white element on the ranch worked almost unceasingly, stirring theMexicans to the greatest effort. The middle of June passed without adrop of rain, but on the morning of the twentieth, after working allnight, as Pasquale Arispe and I were drawing water from a well on theborder of the encinal I felt a breeze spring up, that started thewindmill. Casting my eyes upward, I noticed that the wind had veered toa quarter directly opposite to that of the customary coast breeze. Notbeing able to read aright the portent of the change in the wind, I hadto learn from that native-born son of the soil: "Tomas," he cried,riding up excitedly, "in three days it will rain! Listen to me: PasqualeArispe says that in three days the arroyos on the hacienda of DonLancelot will run like a mill-race. See, companero, the wind haschanged. The breeze is from the northwest this morning. Before threedays it will rain! Madre de Dios!"The wind from the northwest continued steadily for two days, relievingus from work. On the morning of the third day the signs in sky and airwere plain for falling weather. Cattle, tottering with weakness, cameinto the well, and after drinking, playfully kicked up their heels onleaving. Before noon the storm struck us like a cloud-burst. Pasqualeand I took refuge under the wagon to avoid the hailstones. In spite ofthe parched ground drinking to its contentment, water flooded under thewagon, driving us out. But we laughed at the violence of the deluge, andafter making everything secure, saddled our horses and set out for home,taking our relay mounts with us. It was fifteen miles to the ranch andin the eye of the storm; but the loose horses faced the rain as if theyenjoyed it, while those under saddle followed the free ones as a hounddoes a scent. Within two hours after leaving the well, we reined in atthe gate, and I saw Uncle Lance and a number of the boys promenading thegallery. But the old ranchero leisurely walked down the pathway to thegate, and amid the downpour shouted to us: "Turn those horses loose;this ranch is going to take a month's holiday."