The History of the Old American West – 4 Books in One Volume (Illustrated Edition). Emerson Hough
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not it is a fresh track. Perhaps it is part of his day's work to look up some of the ranch horses which have strayed away. Perhaps his ranch is under fence, and if so he must ride the line to see that the fence is not down at any point. In the early days no man needed to worry about fences, but of later times the faithful cowboy who works on a fenced ranch is sometimes called contemptuously a "pliers man" by the rustlers who have no fences of their own, this name coming from the tools which the cowboy carries in order to mend a break if he finds one in the wire fence. The cowpuncher's eye, from force of habit, is keen to note any unbranded animal that may be running on his range. If the law or his conscience in regard to Mavericks permit it — and as to Mavericks the conscience of all good cowpunchers is wide — our solitary rider may forthwith set about correcting the deficiency in the unbranded calf running with or without the company of the cow. It is not unknown that a cow-puncher has built a fire, heated his iron, taken his place again in the saddle, roped and thrown his calf, and then dragged it up to him as he sat in the saddle, finishing the branding without dismounting. This, however, is the act of a stylist in cowpunching.
The range in summer time is a breezy and not unpleasant place to be, in spite of the brilliant sun. The cowpuncher has the equanimity of good digestion and well-oxygenated blood as he goes on his morning ride across the country. Always his eye roams over the expanse ahead. He can tell farther than the tenderfoot can see what is going on out on the horizon. He knows what is this distant horseman crossing the flat ahead. If it is a cowboy, he knows him because he rides straight up in his stirrups, with no crooking-back of the leg. If it is an Indian, he will be sitting hunched up, with his stirrups very short and his leg bent back under the horse's belly, riding with the calf of his leg rather than with the thigh or knee, and, moreover, kicking his horse all the time. If Jim, the cowboy, does not think this horseman should be there at this part of the range, he may stop and unsling the big field glasses which he sometimes carries with him as an aid in his work. With these glasses he swings his gaze across the whole sweep of country steadily, seeing a strange panorama, not all of which would be visible if he waited to ride up close enough to see with the unaided eye. He sees a little bunch of young cows running up out of a draw, and suspects that the gray wolves may have pulled down a calf there. He sees the coyotes, reddish in the warm sun, sneaking off across the plain. He notes the low swoop of a big eagle, and he watches a long time the actions of a bunch of antelope. A little cloud of dust arising steadily from one spot attracts his attention, and, looking for a long time at this, he sees it is caused by two big bulls which are waging one of the stubborn and exciting combats of the cattle plains. Interested in this, he closes the glasses and rides over to "see the fun"; for a fight of any kind is not foreign to his preferences. He draws up by the side of the intent fighters, not close enough to disturb them, and, taking a chew of tobacco, throws his leg over the horn of his saddle as he sits, offering mental wagers on the winner. The two great animals charge and charge again, their solid foreheads meeting with dull thumps, their backs bowing up strongly, their muscles cording out in relief as they thrust and shove, each trying to get at the side of the other, their hind legs going fairly up on their toes as they clash in the encounter. The herd stands near by, watching the contest with eager interest, the heads of the cows thrown high, occasionally an animal running away a bit in fright, only to return to the fascination of the spectacle. The eyes of the fighting bulls glare, and foam hangs from their mouths. They pant and grumble, their sides momentarily growing more densely covered with the white dust. Thus they fight till at length one tires and can no longer withstand the steady shove of his antagonist. He weakens, turns swiftly to one side, swerving cunningly clear of the rapid thrust at his side which follows, and runs off discomfited, the other retiring pawing, shaking his head, and bellowing. This will give the cowpuncher something to talk about tonight.
As he rides on over the range, the cowpuncher keeps out an eye along the watering places to note any animal that may have become mired down. When he sees a big steer thus entrapped, and with life enough left in it to warrant an attempt at its rescue, Jim rides up to the edge of the boggy place and sets about pulling out the animal. He does not like to get his rope muddy for the sake of a Texas steer, but still he may do so upon occasion. With a sweep of the wrist he lands the rope about the horns of the creature, the latter meantime snorting and shaking its head in resentment, and having no understanding of the intention of it all. Heading the pony up the bank, Jim sets in the spurs, and the sturdy little horse, which takes as much delight as its master in showing its superiority over all horned things, stiffens its muscles and strains at the rope. If the steer's neck holds together, it comes out of the mud. Then, if it has not been bogged down for very long, and still has most of its quota of original sin, the steer is extremely apt to reward its rescuers with a sudden and determined charge as quickly as it gets on its feet, for it knows nothing about the service that has been rendered, and feels only that its dignity has been injured by these creatures which it hates. But the charge is not rapid enough to catch the swift-footed little pony.
Perhaps Jim notes in his rounds a steer that is standing apart by itself, with its head down, dull and stupid. Or perhaps it will so stand for a time, and then run about frantic and crazy, as though intoxicated. Jim knows what is the cause of this. The animal has been eating the "loco weed," against which instinct gives it apparently no protection. The effect of this herb is to stupefy or render crazed the animal eating of it. From the Spanish word loco — "mad,crazy" — comes the expression common on the range, "locoed." To say that a man is "locoed" means that he is foolish, absurd, crazy. If Jim sees too much loco weed about, he may drive the cattle away from that part of the range.
Jim does not love a rattlesnake, nor does his pony, and the latter can smell one a long way, turning its head to where it lies curled up under the shade of the Spanish bayonet. Jim takes a shot or so at the snake with his six-shooter, not heeding the objections of the pony to the gun. A cow horse has to get used to a great many strange things that go on upon its back. Or Jim may dismount and kill the snake with his quirt, rather a short-range weapon for such a case, though this does not seem to trouble him. He may skin the snake if it be a very large one, turning the skin back from the neck, and pulling it free as he holds the head down with his foot. Snake fat is good for softening leather, and so is the fat of the prairie dog, at which Jim occasionally tries a shot, just to "keep his hand in."
Thus on the cowpuncher rides in the course of his day's work, across wide flats and around high, red buttes, over rough gullies and coulees ("arroyos" these would be called in the Southwest), and all the time he is observant of all that transpires about him, near at hand or at a distance. Perhaps he takes a straight course across country, on his way out to one of the "line camps" of the ranch, to see how matters are progressing there. He may take out a letter to one of the boys at that camp, a letter which has perhaps lain at the nearest post office for a month before the ranch wagon went to town, and which has been at the ranch a couple of weeks or more in addition, but which none the less seems fresh to the cowboy receiving it. It may be from his "girl," as he calls it (his "duke" it would be in the South), and if so Jim will not take the answer back with him, even though he stay overnight at the line camp, for the composition of the cowpuncher's reply is perhaps a portentous thing, to be accomplished only after long and studious effort.
As Jim turns back in his course, and rides toward the home ranch again, if it be among his plans to return to the ranch the same day, he may be a trifle hungry, but he does not mind that. It may perhaps rain, and make the going bad over the soft flats, but he does not mind that either. It is a part of his daily training to be calm and philosophical. If he be thirsty, he dismounts at the first water hole and drinks, fearless of the alkali which would nearly kill a tenderfoot, but which does not trouble him any more than it does the hardiest steer. He is fitted to survive in these hard surroundings. He belongs in this landscape of butte and plain and scarp and valley, this rugged, hard-faced man who so confidently holds on his way, from his narrowed eyes seeing all the wide sweep of the earth and air about him.
Perhaps it is night by the time he gets back to the ranch house, coming in after a wide circle in a direction opposite to that in which he went out. Perhaps he does not get back to camp at all that night, even though he wishes to do so, for even the cow-puncher can go astray in the labyrinth of the wilderness. One occasion comes to mind in which an able cowboy lost his way in a big Texas "pasture," all of which was under fence. He had, almost unbelievable thing, gone out on foot into the chaparral to get his horse, which led him a chase