The Red-Blooded Heroes of the Frontier | Page 3

of a life of

hardship and privation equalled only among seafarers. Drenched by
rain or bitten by snow, scorched by heat or stiffened by cold, he passed
it all off with a jest. Of a bitterly cold night he might casually remark
about the quilts that composed his bed: "These here durned huldys ain't
much thicker 'n hen skin!" Or of a hot night: "Reckon ole mammy must
'a stuffed a hull bale of cotton inter this yere ole huldy." Or in a pouring
rain: "'Pears like ole Mahster's got a durned fool idee we'uns is
web-footed." Or in a driving snow storm: "Ef ole Mahster had to git rid
o' this yere damn cold stuff, he might 'a dumped it on fellers what 's got
more firewood handy."
Vices? Well, such as the cowboy had, some one who loves him less
will have to describe. Perhaps he was a bit too frolicsome in town, and
too quick to settle a trifling dispute with weapons; but these things were
inevitable results of the life he led.
In driving a herd over a known trail where water and grass are abundant,
an experienced trail boss conforms the movement of his herd as near as
possible to the habit of wild cattle on the range. At dawn the herd rises
from the bed ground and is "drifted" or grazed, without pushing, in the
desired direction. By nine or ten o'clock they have eaten their fill, and
then they are "strung out on the trail" to water. They step out smartly,
two men--one at either side--"pointing" the leaders; and "swing" riders
along the sides push in the flanks, until the herd is strung out for a mile
or more, a narrow, bright, particolored ribbon of moving color winding
over the dark green of hill and plain. In this way they easily march off
six to nine miles by noon. When they reach water they are scattered
along the stream, drink their fill and lie down. Dinner is then eaten, and
the boys not on herd doze in the shade of the wagon, until, a little after
two o'clock, the herd rise of their own accord and move away, guided
by the riders. Rather less distance is made in the afternoon. At twilight
the herd is rounded up into a close circular compact mass and "bedded
down" for the night; the first relief of the night guard riding slowly
round, singing softly and turning back stragglers. If properly grazed, in
less than a half-hour the herd is quiet and at rest; and, barring an
occasional wild or hungry beast trying to steal away into the darkness,
so they lie till dawn unless stampeded by some untoward incident.

Every two or three hours a new "relief" is called and the night guard
changed. Round and round all night ride the guards, jingling their spurs
and droning some low monotonous song, recounting through endless
stanzas the fearless deeds of some frontier hero, or humming some love
ditty rather too passionate for gentle ears.
But when a ninety-mile drive across the Staked Plain is to be done, all
this easy system is changed. In order to make the journey at all the pace
must be forced to the utmost, and the cattle kept on their legs and
moving as long as they can stand.
Therefore, when Loving and Goodnight reached the head of the
Concho, two full days' rest were taken to recuperate the "drags," or
weaker cattle. Then, late one afternoon, after the herd had been well
grazed and watered, the water barrels and kegs filled, the herd was
thrown on the trail and driven away into the west, without halt or rest,
throughout the night. Thus, driving in the cool of the night and of the
early morning and late evening, resting through the heat of midday
when travel would be most exhausting, the herd was pushed on
westward for three nights and four days.
On these dry drives the horses suffer most, for every rider is forced, in
his necessary daily work, to cover many times the distance travelled by
the herd, and therefore the horses, doing the heaviest work, are
refreshed by an occasional sip of the precious contents of the water
barrels--as long as it lasts. By night of the second day of this drive
every drop of water is consumed, and thereafter, with tongues parched
and swollen by the clouds of dust raised by the moving multitude, thin,
drawn, and famished for water, men, horses, and cattle push madly
ahead.
Come at last within fifteen miles of the Pecos, even the leaders, the
strongest of the herd, are staggering along with dull eyes and drooping
heads, apparently ready to fall in their tracks. Suddenly the whole
appearance of the cattle changes; heads are