Cattle-Ranch to College Part 20

The remedy proved to be effective; soon all the horses were feeding quietly round the tied leader.

John congratulated himself on his success and prepared to take a much-needed rest, but was interrupted by the sound of another bell far up the gulch. Evidently there were other horses feeding near, and it was essential to keep them separated; so he trotted to a point between the herd and the place from which the ringing came. Again he dismounted from his sweating pony and sat down to rest, when, chancing to glance over his shoulder, he saw a small fire blazing a quarter of a mile away. "No rest for the weary," he grunted resignedly, mounted once more and started out to investigate. As he rode slowly nearer he made out a man sitting cross-legged by the fire, his face in strong relief, his back almost lost in shadow. Behind stood a saddled horse, barely showing in the gloom.

John rode up, slapping his chaps with his quirt to let the stranger know that he was a horseman also and giving fair warning of his approach.

Otherwise he might be taken for a horse thief and shot on sight.

[Ill.u.s.tration: A ROPE CORRAL WAS DRAWN ABOUT THE SADDLE BAND. (_Page 281._)]

The stranger rose quickly and retreated into the shadow. John did not like this. "Hullo, pardner!" he called, drawing nearer.

"Hullo, stranger," replied the other. "Are you lost?"

"No. I'm Murphy's night herder. Pretty dark night, isn't it?"

The man returned to the circle of firelight, his suspicions allayed, thus evidencing his own honesty. John dismounted and came up to him, glad to have some one to talk and listen to.

"You night-herdin' too? I heard a bell ringing up the gulch and I guessed there was another bunch of horses up there."

"Yep. I've got Brady's horses up there," and he nodded in the direction of a dimly visible lot. John described the difficulties he had experienced and asked if there were many prospect holes about.

"Yes, lots of 'em," answered the Brady man. "An' they're deep too. I was ridin' along with my bunch last spring, spurrin' my horse to get ahead of the critters, when he went plump into a blamed hole--and he's there yet. I only got away by the skin of my teeth."

"I guess I'm in great luck to get through this safe," said John. "I was never on this range till after dark to-night."

"Horses all there?" inquired the other, nodding towards John's charges.

"Sure. But I guess I'd better count 'em."

"My horses are like a lot of sheep. I'll go along with you."

The two rounded the animals together again and counted them as well as the darkness would allow. They agreed that they numbered fifty-six and John breathed easier.

And so the first night pa.s.sed, the two herders chatting pleasantly till dawn, when they parted, agreeing to meet some other night.

A little before daybreak John rounded up his bunch and began driving them in the direction of the camp. When daylight came he counted them again and to his satisfaction found them all there. In spite of the tiresome trip of the day before, the hard riding of the preceding evening, and the long night's vigil, he felt as gay as the lark that soared overhead pouring out a song entirely out of proportion in volume to its size. He hummed blithely an Indian war chant, made over for the occasion, and breathed in the early morning fragrance with a feeling of exhilaration that made him forget for the time that he had gone to work the night before supperless and had not put his teeth into anything edible since.

The sight of the cook preparing breakfast speedily reminded him that he had an "aching void," which seemed to extend to his very heels.

The boss's query, "Got 'em all, Worth?" was answered, with pardonable pride, in the affirmative. For John felt that he had done good work.

The breakfast was soon over, and what a breakfast! Baked beans, bacon, bread, and coffee, a feast fit for the G.o.ds, John thought, as he rolled into the bed that Frank had previously showed him. He was sound asleep in a minute and entirely unconscious of the bustle and noise about him.

Murphy was giving orders in stentorian tones that could be heard half a mile away; the unwilling horses were being harnessed to the big scoop-like sc.r.a.pers and to the wagons containing tools; the men were divided into gangs, the new arrivals, cross, surly, and suffering from aching heads, starting with irritating slowness. Soon all hands were hard at work, "moving hills to fill up hollows," making a level trail for the iron horse.

At this point there was much digging and sc.r.a.ping to be done, a deep cut and a long "fill" on the other side. At noon the men trooped back to dinner--silent until their hunger was satisfied, then noisy and boisterous--but John slept peacefully through it all.

About four o'clock he woke up and gazed about him wonderingly. He was lying in a tent, through the open flap of which the sunlight streamed.

A dip in the stream that ran close by refreshed him greatly and dispelled the sleepy, heavy feeling that had possessed him. The creek was clear and cool, and John lingered on its banks half clothed, digging in the sand and mud with his bare feet and hands. As he was dabbling in the moist earth, he came across some sand that had black streaks in it.

His curiosity was aroused, for he had not seen the like before, and he gathered some in his hat, intending to ask what it was.

The cook was busy washing beans for supper, so John sat down on a log near by and watched him idly. His thoughts wandered back to the coal camp, and he wondered about Ben and Baldy; he longed for both, and for the moment was tempted to go home and see them; then he realized that he had chosen the path he was now travelling for himself and felt that he must follow it out to the end. He thought of the journey to Helena, of Jimmy the hobo, and of the life he had just left. His brown study was interrupted with a jolt. "What's that you've got in your hat?" It was the cook, speaking rather excitedly.

"Oh, that? That's some sand and gravel I picked out down the creek; brought it up to ask what it is."

"Well, it looks to me like gold." This impressively.

"But it's black," objected John.

"Yes, the black is magnetic iron and often holds gold--maybe there's enough to pay. Do you know how to work the pan?" Cook was evidently interested.

The boy professed his ignorance, and the other volunteered to show him.

The pan, a flat, round, shallow tin affair, was taken down to the spot indicated by John and the lesson began. A little gravel, which included some of the black sand, was scooped up. Then the pan was taken to the creek, dipped under, and the water was allowed to run out slowly. This was repeated over and over, and each time a little sand and gravel was washed over the edge. At last only the black sand, being heavier, remained. This the cook showed triumphantly.

"Only a little black sand! Where's the gold?" inquired John.

"It's in the sand, and has to be separated from it by quicksilver, which absorbs the gold; then you can throw away the sand," explained cook, who had put away the residue carefully in a bottle and was dipping up more gravel.

"But how do you take the gold out of the quicksilver?" The boy was determined to get to the bottom of this thing.

"Why, you can put it in the sun and let it evaporate, leaving the gold, or you can send it to town to be separated and run the risk of losing both quicksilver and some of your gold."

John tried panning, but he found it needed a much more practised hand than his; he spilled out water, gravel, and all, or else he didn't accomplish anything. Cook's teaching was careful, however, and before long his pupil was able to gather enough sand, after sleeping and before beginning his night's work, to realize fifty or sixty cents' worth of gold when separated.

Immediately after supper John had to saddle his horse and drive the work stock out to feed. This task was becoming more and more easy as the horses learned to know each other. He met Curran, Brady's wrangler, regularly now, and the companionship helped to while away the long night hours very pleasantly.

Curran was of medium height, stoop-shouldered, and rather bow-legged from long contact with a horse's rounded body. He was awkward and stiff when afoot, an appearance accentuated by the suit of canvas and leather that he wore. In the saddle he was another being, graceful, supple, strong--seemingly a part of the beast he rode. His skin was tanned and seamed by long years of exposure to the sun. He might be the very hero himself of a song he sang to John one night.

BOW-LEGGED IKE.

Bow-legged Ike on horseback was sent From some place, straight down to this broad continent.

His father could ride and his mother could, too, They straddled the whole way from Kalamazoo.

Born on the plains, when he first sniffed the air He cried for to mount on the spavined gray mare.

And when he got big and could hang to the horn 'Twas the happiest day since the time he was born.

He'd stop his horse loping with one good, strong yank, He'd rake him on shoulder and rake him on flank.

He was only sixteen when he broke "Outlaw Nell,"

The horse that had sent nigh a score men to--well!

He climbed to the saddle and there sat still, While she bucked him all day with no sign of a spill.

Five years later on a cayuse struck the trail Whose record made even old "punchers" turn pale.