The Log of a Cowboy | Page 5

was irritable and
inclined to borrow trouble, therefore unqualified personally to oversee
the actual management of a cow herd. In repose, Don Lovell was slow,
almost dull, but in an emergency was astonishingly quick-witted and
alert. He never insisted on temperance among his men, and though
usually of a placid temperament, when out of tobacco--Lord!
Jim Flood, on the other hand, was in a hundred respects the antithesis
of his employer. Born to the soil of Texas, he knew nothing but cattle,
but he knew them thoroughly. Yet in their calling, the pair were a
harmonious unit. He never crossed a bridge till he reached it, was
indulgent with his men, and would overlook any fault, so long as they
rendered faithful service. Priest told me this incident: Flood had hired a
man at Red River the year before, when a self-appointed guardian
present called Flood to one side and said,--"Don't you know that that
man you've just hired is the worst drunkard in this country?"
"No, I didn't know it," replied Flood, "but I'm glad to hear he is. I don't
want to ruin an innocent man, and a trail outfit is not supposed to have
any morals. Just so the herd don't count out shy on the day of delivery,
I don't mind how many drinks the outfit takes."
The next morning after going into camp, the first thing was the
allotment of our mounts for the trip. Flood had the first pick, and cut
twelve bays and browns. His preference for solid colors, though they
were not the largest in the remuda, showed his practical sense of horses.
When it came the boys' turn to cut, we were only allowed to cut one at

a time by turns, even casting lots for first choice. We had ridden the
horses enough to have a fair idea as to their merits, and every lad was
his own judge. There were, as it happened, only three pinto horses in
the entire saddle stock, and these three were the last left of the entire
bunch. Now a little boy or girl, and many an older person, thinks that a
spotted horse is the real thing, but practical cattle men know that this
freak of color in range-bred horses is the result of in-and-in breeding,
with consequent physical and mental deterioration. It was my good
fortune that morning to get a good mount of horses,--three sorrels, two
grays, two coyotes, a black, a brown, and a grulla. The black was my
second pick, and though the color is not a hardy one, his "bread-basket"
indicated that he could carry food for a long ride, and ought to be a
good swimmer. My judgment of him was confirmed throughout the trip,
as I used him for my night horse and when we had swimming rivers to
ford. I gave this black the name of "Nigger Boy."
For the trip each man was expected to furnish his own accoutrements.
In saddles, we had the ordinary Texas make, the housings of which
covered our mounts from withers to hips, and would weigh from thirty
to forty pounds, bedecked with the latest in the way of trimmings and
trappings.
Our bridles were in keeping with the saddles, the reins as long as
plough lines, while the bit was frequently ornamental and costly. The
indispensable slicker, a greatcoat of oiled canvas, was ever at hand,
securely tied to our cantle strings. Spurs were a matter of taste. If a
rider carried a quirt, he usually dispensed with spurs, though, when
used, those with large, dull rowels were the make commonly chosen. In
the matter of leggings, not over half our outfit had any, as a trail herd
always kept in the open, and except for night herding they were too
warm in summer. Our craft never used a cattle whip, but if emergency
required, the loose end of a rope served instead, and was more humane.
Either Flood or Lovell went into town every afternoon with some of the
boys, expecting to hear from the cattle. On one trip they took along the
wagon, laying in a month's supplies. The rest of us amused ourselves in
various ways. One afternoon when the tide was in, we tried our

swimming horses in the river, stripping to our underclothing, and, with
nothing but a bridle on our horses, plunged into tidewater. My Nigger
Boy swam from bank to bank like a duck. On the return I slid off
behind, and taking his tail, let him tow me to our own side, where he
arrived snorting like a tugboat.
One evening, on their return from Brownsville, Flood brought word
that the herd would camp that night within fifteen miles of the river. At
daybreak Lovell and the foreman, with "Fox" Quarternight and