Chapter XIX. Horse Brands

by Andy Adams

　　Before gathering the fillies and mares that spring, and while ridingthe range, locating our horse stock, Pasquale brought in word late oneevening that a ladino stallion had killed the regular one, and wasthen in possession of the manada. The fight between the outlaw and theranch stallion had evidently occurred above the mouth of the Ganso andseveral miles to the north of the home river, for he had accidentallyfound the carcass of the dead horse at a small lake and, recognizing theanimal by his color, had immediately scoured the country in search ofthe band. He had finally located the manada, many miles off theirrange; but at sight of the vaquero the ladino usurper had desertedthe mares, halting, however, out of gunshot, yet following at a safedistance as Pasquale drifted them back. Leaving the manada on theirformer range, Pasquale had ridden into the ranch and reported. It wasthen too late in the day to start against the interloper, as the rangewas fully twenty-five miles away, and we were delayed the next morningin getting up speedy saddle horses from distant and various remudas,and did not get away from the ranch until after dinner. But then westarted, taking the usual pack mules, and provisioned for a week'souting.Included in the party was Captain Frank Byler, the regular home crowd,and three Mexicans. With an extra saddle horse for each, we rode awaymerrily to declare war on the ladino stallion. "This is the third timesince I've teen ranching here," said Uncle Lance to Captain Frank, aswe rode along, "that I've had stallions killed. There always have beenbands of wild horses, west here between the Leona and Nueces rivers andaround Espontos Lake. Now that country is settling up, the people walkdown the bands and the stallions escape, and in drifting about find ourrange. They're wiry rascals, and our old stallions don't stand any moreshow with them than a fat hog would with a javaline. That's why I takeas much pride in killing one as I do a rattlesnake."We made camp early that evening on the home river, opposite the rangeof the manada. Sending out Pasquale to locate the band and watch themuntil dark, Uncle Lance outlined his idea of circling the band andbagging the outlaw in the uncertain light of dawn. Pasquale reportedon his return after dark that the manada were contentedly feeding ontheir accustomed range within three miles of camp. Pasquale hadwatched the band for an hour, and described the ladino stallion as acinnamon-colored coyote, splendidly proportioned and unusually large fora mustang.Naturally, in expectation of the coming sport, the horses became thetopic around the camp-fire that night. Every man present was a bornhorseman, and there was a generous rivalry for the honor in tellinghorse stories. Aaron Scales joined the group at a fortunate time tointroduce an incident from his own experience, and, raking out a coal offire for his pipe, began:--"The first ranch I ever worked on," said he, "was located on the Navidadin Lavaca County. It was quite a new country then, rather broken andtimbered in places and full of bear and wolves. Our outfit was workingsome cattle before the general round-up in the spring. We wanted to moveone brand to another range as soon as the grass would permit, and wewere gathering them for that purpose. We had some ninety saddle horseswith us to do the work,--sufficient to mount fifteen men. One night wecamped in a favorite spot, and as we had no cattle to hold that night,all the horses were thrown loose, with the usual precaution of hobbling,except two or three on picket. All but about ten head wore thebracelets, and those ten were pals, their pardners wearing the hemp.Early in the evening, probably nine o'clock, with a bright fire burning,and the boys spreading down their beds for the night, suddenly thehorses were heard running, and the next moment they hobbled into camplike a school of porpoise, trampling over the beds and crowding up tothe fire and the wagon. They almost knocked down some of the boys, sosudden was their entrance. Then they set up a terrible nickering formates. The boys went amongst them, and horses that were timid and shyalmost caressed their riders, trembling in limb and muscle the whilethrough fear, like a leaf. We concluded a bear had scented the camp, andin approaching it had circled round, and run amuck our saddle horses.Every horse by instinct is afraid of a bear, but more particularly arange-raised one. It's the same instinct that makes it impossible toride or drive a range-raised horse over a rattlesnake. Well, after theboys had petted their mounts and quieted their fears, they were stillreluctant to leave camp, but stood around for several hours, evidentlyfeeling more secure in our presence. Now and then one of the free oneswould graze out a little distance, cautiously sniff the air, then trotback to the others. We built up a big fire to scare away any bear orwolves that might he in the vicinity, but the horses stayed like invitedguests, perfectly contented as long as we would pet them and talk tothem. Some of the boys crawled under the wagon, hoping to get a littlesleep, rather than spread their bed where a horse could stampede overit. Near midnight we took ropes and saddle blankets and drove themseveral hundred yards from camp. The rest of the night we slept with oneeye open, expecting every moment to hear them take fright and return.They didn't, but at daylight every horse was within five hundred yardsof the wagon, and when we unhobbled them and broke camp that morning, wehad to throw riders in the lead to hold them back."On the conclusion of Scales's experience, there was no lack ofvolunteers to take up the thread, though an unwritten law forbadeinterruptions. Our employer was among the group, and out of deference toour guest, the boys remained silent. Uncle Lance finally regaled uswith an account of a fight between range stallions which he had oncewitnessed, and on its conclusion Theodore Quayle took his turn."The man I was working for once moved nearly a thousand head of mixedrange stock, of which about three hundred were young mules, from the SanSaba to the Concho River. It was a dry country and we were compelled tofollow the McKavett and Fort Chadbourne trail. We had timed our drivesso that we reached creeks once a day at least, sometimes oftener. It wasthe latter part of summer, and was unusually hot and drouthy. There wasone drive of twenty-five miles ahead that the owner knew of withoutwater, and we had planned this drive so as to reach it at noon, drivehalfway, make a dry camp over night, and reach the pools by noon thenext day. Imagine our chagrin on reaching the watering place to find thestream dry. We lost several hours riding up and down the arroyo in thehope of finding relief for the men, if not for the stock. It had beendusty for weeks. The cook had a little water in his keg, but only enoughfor drinking purposes. It was twenty miles yet to the Concho, and makeit before night we must. Turning back was farther than going ahead, andthe afternoon was fearfully hot. The heat waves looked like a sea offire. The first part of the afternoon drive was a gradual ascent forfifteen miles, and then came a narrow plateau of a divide. As we reachedthis mesa, a sorrier-looking lot of men, horses, and mules can hardly beimagined. We had already traveled over forty miles without water for thestock, and five more lay between us and the coveted river."The heat was oppressive to the men, but the herd suffered most from thefine alkali dust which enveloped them. Their eyebrows and nostrils werewhitened with this fine powder, while all colors merged into one. Onreaching this divide, we could see the cotton-woods that outlined thestream ahead. Before we had fully crossed this watershed and begun thedescent, the mules would trot along beside the riders in the lead, evenpermitting us to lay our hands on their backs. It was getting late inthe day before the first friendly breeze of the afternoon blew softly inour faces. Then, Great Scott! what a change came over man and herd. Themules in front threw up their heads and broke into a grand chorus. Thosethat were strung out took up the refrain and trotted forward. The horsesset up a rival concert in a higher key. They had scented the water fivemiles off."All hands except one man on each side now rode in the lead. Every oncein a while, some enthusiastic mule would break through the line ofhorsemen, and would have to be brought back. Every time we came to anelevation where we could catch the breeze, the grand horse and muleconcert would break out anew. At the last elevation between us and thewater, several mules broke through, and before they could be broughtback the whole herd had broken into a run which was impossible to check.We opened out then and let them go."The Concho was barely running, but had long, deep pools here and there,into which horses and mules plunged, dropped down, rolled over, and thengot up to nicker and bray. The young mules did everything but drink,while the horses were crazy with delight. When the wagon came up we wentinto camp and left them to play out their hands. There was no herdingto do that night, as the water would hold them as readily as a hundredmen.""Well, I'm going to hunt my blankets," said Uncle Lance, rising. "Youunderstand, Captain, that you are to sleep with me to-night. DavyCrockett once said that the politest man he ever met in Washingtonsimply set out the decanter and glasses, and then walked over and lookedout of the window while he took a drink. Now I want to be equally politeand don't want to hurry you to sleep, but whenever you get tired ofyarning, you'll find the bed with me in it to the windward of thatlive-oak tree top over yonder."Captain Frank showed no inclination to accept the invitation just then,but assured his host that he would join him later. An hour or two passedby."Haven't you fellows gone to bed yet?" came an inquiry from out of afallen tree top beyond the fire in a voice which we all recognized. "Allright, boys, sit up all night and tell fool stories if you want to. Butremember, I'll have the last rascal of you in the saddle an hour beforedaybreak. I have little sympathy for a man who won't sleep when he hasa good chance. So if you don't turn in at all it will be all right, butyou'll be routed out at three in the morning, and the man who requires asecond calling will get a bucket of water in his face."Captain Frank and several of us rose expecting to take the hint of ouremployer, when our good intentions were arrested by a query from DanHappersett, "Did any of you ever walk down a wild horse?" None of ushad, and we turned back and reseated ourselves in the group."I had a little whirl of it once when I was a youngster," said Dan,"except we didn't walk. It was well known that there were several bandsof wild horses ranging in the southwest corner of Tom Green County.Those who had seen them described one band as numbering forty to fiftyhead with a fine chestnut stallion as a leader. Their range was welllocated when water was plentiful, but during certain months of the yearthe shallow lagoons where they watered dried up, and they were compelledto leave. It was when they were forced to go to other waters thatglimpses of them were to be had, and then only at a distance of one ortwo miles. There was an outfit made up one spring to go out to theirrange and walk these horses down. This season of the year was selected,as the lagoons would be full of water and the horses would be naturallyreduced in flesh and strength after the winter, as well as weak and thinblooded from their first taste of grass. We took along two wagons, oneloaded with grain for our mounts. These saddle horses had been eatinggrain for months before we started and their flesh was firm and solid."We headed for the lagoons, which were known to a few of our party, andwhen we came within ten miles of the water holes, we saw fresh signs ofa band--places where they had apparently grazed within a week. But itwas the second day before we caught sight of the wild horses, and toolate in the day to give them chase. They were watering at a large lakesouth of our camp, and we did not disturb them. We watched them untilnightfall, and that night we planned to give them chase at daybreak.Four of us were to do the riding by turns, and imaginary stations wereallotted to the four quarters of our camp. If they refused to leavetheir range and circled, we could send them at least a hundred and fiftymiles the first day, ourselves riding possibly a hundred, and thisriding would be divided among four horses, with plenty of fresh ones atcamp for a change."Being the lightest rider in the party, it was decided that I was togive them the first chase. We had a crafty plainsman for our captain,and long before daylight he and I rode out and waited for the first peepof day. Before the sun had risen, we sighted the wild herd within a mileof the place where darkness had settled over them the night previous.With a few parting instructions from our captain, I rode leisurelybetween them and the lake where they had watered the evening before. Atfirst sight of me they took fright and ran to a slight elevation. Therethey halted a moment, craning their necks and sniffing the air. This wasmy first fair view of the chestnut stallion. He refused to break intoa gallop, and even stopped before the rest, turning defiantly on thisintruder of his domain. From the course I was riding, every moment I wasexpecting them to catch the wind of me. Suddenly they scented me, knewme for an enemy, and with the stallion in the lead they were off to thesouth."It was an exciting ride that morning. Without a halt they ran twentymiles to the south, then turned to the left and there halted on anelevation; but a shot in the air told them that all was not well andthey moved on. For an hour and a half they kept their course to theeast, and at last turned to the north. This was, as we had calculated,about their range. In another hour at the farthest, a new rider witha fresh horse would take up the running. My horse was still fresh andenjoying the chase, when on a swell of the plain I made out the riderwho was to relieve me; and though it was early yet in the day themustangs had covered sixty miles to my forty. When I saw my relieflocate the band, I turned and rode leisurely to camp. When the last tworiders came into camp that night, they reported having left the herd ata new lake, to which the mustang had led them, some fifteen miles fromour camp to the westward."Each day for the following week was a repetition of the first withvarying incident. But each day it was plain to be seen that they werefagging fast. Toward the evening of the eighth day, the rider dared notcrowd them for fear of their splitting into small bands, a thing to beavoided. On the ninth day two riders took them at a time, pushing themunmercifully but preventing them from splitting, and in the evening ofthis day they could be turned at the will of the riders. It was thenagreed that after a half day's chase on the morrow, they could behandled with ease. By noon next day, we had driven them within a mile ofour camp."They were tired out and we turned them into an impromptu corral made ofwagons and ropes. All but the chestnut stallion. At the last he escapedus; he stopped on a little knoll and took a farewell look at his band."There were four old United States cavalry horses among our captive bandof mustangs, gray with age and worthless--no telling where they camefrom. We clamped a mule shoe over the pasterns of the younger horses,tied toggles to the others, and the next morning set out on our returnto the settlements."Under his promise the old ranchero had the camp astir over an hourbefore dawn. Horses were brought in from picket ropes, and divided intotwo squads, Pasquale leading off to the windward of where the band waslocated at dusk previous. The rest of the men followed Uncle Lance tocomplete the leeward side of the circle. The location of the manada,had been described as between a small hill covered with Spanish bayoneton one hand, and a zacahuiste flat nearly a mile distant on the other,both well-known landmarks. As we rode out and approached the location,we dropped a man every half mile until the hill and adjoining salt flathad been surrounded. We had divided what rifles the ranch owned betweenthe two squads, so that each side of the circle was armed with fourguns. I had a carbine, and had been stationed about midway of theleeward half-circle. At the first sign of dawn, the signal agreed upon,a turkey call, sounded back down the line, and we advanced. The circlewas fully two miles in diameter, and on receiving the signal I rodeslowly forward, halting at every sound. It was a cloudy morning anddawn came late for clear vision. Several times I dismounted and inapproaching objects at a distance drove my horse before me, only to findthat, as light increased, I was mistaken.When both the flat and the dagger crowned hill came into view, not aliving object was in sight. I had made the calculation that, had themanada grazed during the night, we should be far to the leeward of theband, for it was reasonable to expect that they would feed against thewind. But there was also the possibility that the outlaw might haveherded the band several miles distant during the night, and while I wasmeditating on this theory, a shot rang out about a mile distant andbehind the hill. Giving my horse the rowel, I rode in the direction ofthe report; but before I reached the hill the manada tore around it,almost running into me. The coyote mustang was leading the band; but asI halted for a shot, he turned inward, and, the mares intervening, cutoff my opportunity. But the warning shot had reached every rider on thecircle, and as I plied rowel and quirt to turn the band, Tio Tiburciocut in before me and headed them backward. As the band whirled away fromus the stallion forged to the front and, by biting and a free use of hisheels, attempted to turn the manada on their former course. But itmattered little which way they turned now, for our cordon was closinground them, the windward line then being less than a mile distant.As the band struck the eastward or windward line of horsemen, the mares,except for the control of the stallion, would have yielded, but now,under his leadership, they recoiled like a band of ladinos. But everytime they approached the line of the closing circle they were checked,and as the cordon closed to less than half a mile in diameter, in spiteof the outlaw's lashings, the manada quieted down and halted. Then weunslung our carbines and rifles and slowly closed in upon the quarry.Several times the mustang stallion came to the outskirts of the band,uttering a single piercing snort, but never exposed himself for a shot.Little by little as we edged in he grew impatient, and finally trottedout boldly as if determined to forsake his harem and rush the line. Butthe moment he cleared the band Uncle Lance dismounted, and as he kneltthe stallion stopped like a statue, gave a single challenging snort,which was answered by a rifle report, and he fell in his tracks.