The Log of a Cowboy | Page 9

double as much as any man
in his outfit. He never left the herd until it was bedded down for the
night, and we could always hear him quietly arousing the cook and
horse wrangler an hour before daybreak. He always kept a horse on
picket for the night, and often took the herd as it left the bed ground at

clear dawn.
A half hour before dark, Flood and all the herd men turned out to bed
down the cattle for our first night. They had been well grazed after
counting, and as they came up to the bed ground there was not a hungry
or thirsty animal in the lot. All seemed anxious to lie down, and by
circling around slowly, while gradually closing in, in the course of half
an hour all were bedded nicely on possibly five or six acres. I
remember there were a number of muleys among the cattle, and these
would not venture into the compact herd until the others had lain down.
Being hornless, instinct taught them to be on the defensive, and it was
noticeable that they were the first to arise in the morning, in advance of
their horned kin. When all had lain down, Flood and the first guard
remained, the others returning to the wagon.
The guards ride in a circle about four rods outside the sleeping cattle,
and by riding in opposite directions make it impossible for any animal
to make its escape without being noticed by the riders. The guards
usually sing or whistle continuously, so that the sleeping herd may
know that a friend and not an enemy is keeping vigil over their dreams.
A sleeping herd of cattle make a pretty picture on a clear moonlight
night, chewing their cuds and grunting and blowing over contented
stomachs. The night horses soon learn their duty, and a rider may fall
asleep or doze along in the saddle, but the horses will maintain their
distance in their leisurely, sentinel rounds.
On returning to the wagon, Priest and I picketed our horses, saddled,
where we could easily find them in the darkness, and unrolled our bed.
We had two pairs of blankets each, which, with an ordinary wagon
sheet doubled for a tarpaulin, and coats and boots for pillows,
completed our couch. We slept otherwise in our clothing worn during
the day, and if smooth, sandy ground was available on which to spread
our bed, we had no trouble in sleeping the sleep that long hours in the
saddle were certain to bring. With all his pardonable faults, The Rebel
was a good bunkie and a hail companion, this being his sixth trip over
the trail. He had been with Lovell over a year before the two made the
discovery that they had been on opposite sides during the "late

unpleasantness." On making this discovery, Lovell at once rechristened
Priest "The Rebel," and that name he always bore. He was fifteen years
my senior at this time, a wonderfully complex nature, hardened by
unusual experiences into a character the gamut of whose moods ran
from that of a good-natured fellow to a man of unrelenting severity in
anger.
We were sleeping a nine knot gale when Fox Quarternight of the
second guard called us on our watch. It was a clear, starry night, and
our guard soon passed, the cattle sleeping like tired soldiers. When the
last relief came on guard and we had returned to our blankets, I
remember Priest telling me this little incident as I fell asleep.
"I was at a dance once in Live Oak County, and there was a stuttering
fellow there by the name of Lem Todhunter. The girls, it seems, didn't
care to dance with him, and pretended they couldn't understand him. He
had asked every girl at the party, and received the same answer from
each--they couldn't understand him. 'W-w-w-ell, g-g-g-go to hell, then.
C-c-c-can y-y-you understand that?' he said to the last girl, and her
brother threatened to mangle him horribly if he didn't apologize, to
which he finally agreed. He went back into the house and said to the
girl, 'Y-y-you n-n-n-needn't g-g-g-go to hell; y-y-your b-b-b-brother
and I have m-m-made other 'r-r-r-rangements.'"
CHAPTER III
THE START
On the morning of April 1, 1882, our Circle Dot herd started on its long
tramp to the Blackfoot Agency in Montana. With six men on each side,
and the herd strung out for three quarters of a mile, it could only be
compared to some mythical serpent or Chinese dragon, as it moved
forward on its sinuous, snail-like course. Two riders, known as point
men, rode out and well back from the lead cattle, and by riding forward
and closing in as occasion required, directed the course of the herd. The