Wells Brothers Part 7

"Dell's gone up the creek with some cowmen from Texas," admitted Joel.

"They're looking for a range. I told them any agreement reached must be made with Mr. Quince. But now that you are here, you will do just as well. They'll be in soon."

"I'm liable to tell them to ride on," said the gray-haired foreman. "I'm jealous, and I want it distinctly understood that I'm a silent partner in this ranch. How many cattle have you?"

"Nearly three hundred and fifty, not counting the calves."

"Forrest only rustled you three hundred and fifty cattle? The lazy wretch--he ought to be hung for ingrat.i.tude!"

"Oh, no," protested Joel; "Mr. Quince has been a father to Dell and myself."

"Wait until I come back from Dodge, and I'll show you what a rustler I am," said Priest, arising to give his horse to the wrangler and issue directions in regard to camping.

The arrival of Dell and the cowmen prevented further converse between Priest and his protege. For the time being a soldier's introduction sufficed between the Texans, but Dell came in for a rough caress. "What do you think of the range?" inquired the trail foreman, turning to the men, and going direct to the subject.

"It meets every requirement for ranching," replied the elder cowman, "and I'm going to make these boys a generous offer."

"This man will act for us," said Joel to the two cowmen, with a jerk of his thumb toward Priest.

"Well, that's good," said the older man, advancing to Priest. "My name is Allen, and this is my son Hugh."

"And my name is Priest, a trail foreman in the employ of Don Lovell,"

said the gray-haired man, shaking hands with the Texans.

"Mr. Lovell was expected in Dodge the day we left," remarked the younger man in greeting. "We had hopes of selling him our herd."

"What is your county?" inquired the trail boss, searching his pockets for a telegram.

"Comanche."

"And when did you leave Dodge?"

"Just ten days ago."

"Then you need no range--your cattle are sold," said Priest, handing the older man a telegram.

The two scanned the message carefully, and the trail foreman continued: "This year my herd was driven to fill a sub-contract, and we delivered it last week at old Camp Clark, on the North Platte. From there the main contractor will trail the beef herd up to the Yellowstone. Old man Don was present at the delivery, and when I got back to Ogalalla with the oufit, that message was awaiting me. I'm now on my way to Dodge to receive the cattle. They go to the old man's beef ranch on the Little Missouri. It says three thousand Comanche County two-year-olds, don't it?"

"It's our cattle," said the son to his father. "We have the only straight herd of Comanche County two-year-olds at Dodge City. That commission man said he would sell them before we got back."

The elder Texan turned to the boys with a smile. "I reckon we'll have to declare all negotiations off regarding this range. I had several good offers to make you, and I'm really sorry at this turn of events. I had figured out a leasing plan, whereby the rentals of this range would give you boys a fine schooling, and revert to you on the eldest attaining his majority. We could have pooled our cattle, and your interests would have been carried free."

"You needn't worry about these boys," remarked Priest, with an air of interest; "they have silent partners. As to schooling, I've known some mighty good men who never punched the eyes out of the owl in their old McGuffy spelling-book."

A distant cry of dinner was wafted up the creek. "That's a welcome call," said Priest, arising. "Come on, everybody. My cook has orders to tear his shirt in getting up a big dinner."

A short walk led to the camp. "This outfit looks good to me," said the elder cowman to Priest, "and you can count on my company to the railroad."

"You're just the man I'm looking for," replied the trail boss. "We're making forty miles a day, and you can have charge until we reach Dodge."

"But I only volunteered as far as the railroad," protested the genial Texan.

"Yes; but then I know you cowmen," contended Priest. "You have lived around a wagon so long and love cow horses so dearly, that you simply can't quit my outfit to ride on a train. Two o'clock is the hour for starting, and I'll overtake you before evening."

The outfit had been reduced to six men, the remainder having been excused and sent home from Ogalalla. The remuda was in fine condition, four changes of mounts a day was the rule, and on the hour named, the cavalcade moved out, leaving its foreman behind. "Angle across the plain and enter the trail on the divide, between here and the Prairie Dog,"

suggested Priest to his men. "We will want to touch here coming back, and the wagon track will point the way. Mr. Allen will act as segundo."

Left to themselves, the trio resolved itself into a ways and means committee. "I soldiered four years," said Priest to the boys, once the sunshade was reached, "and there's nothing that puts spirit and courage into the firing line like knowing that the reserves are strong. It's going to be no easy task to hold these cattle this winter, and now is the time to bring up the ammunition and provision the camp. The army can't march unless the mules are in condition, and you must be well mounted to handle cattle. Ample provision for your saddle stock is the first requirement."

"We're putting up a ton of hay a day," said Joel, "and we'll have two hundred shocks of fodder."

"That's all right for rough forage, but you must have corn for your saddle stock," urged the man. "Without grain for the mounts, cavalry is useless. I think the railroad supplies, to settlers along its line, coal, lumber, wire, and other staples at cost. I'll make inquiry to-morrow and let you know when we return. One hundred bushels of corn would make the forage reserves ample for the winter."

"We've got money enough to buy it," admitted Joel. "I didn't want to take it, but Mr. Quince said it would come in handy."

"That covers the question of forage, then," said Priest. "Now comes the question of corrals and branding."

"Going to brand the calves?" impulsively inquired Dell, jumping at conclusions.

"The calves need not be branded before next spring," replied the practical man, "but the herd must be branded this fall. If a blizzard struck the cattle on the open, they would drift twenty miles during a night. These through Texas cattle have been known to drift five hundred miles during the first winter. You must guard against a winter drift, and the only way is to hold your cattle under herd. If you boys let these cattle out of your hand, away from your control, they'll drift south to the Indian reservations and be lost. You must hold them in spite of storms, and you will need a big, roomy inclosure in which to corral the herd at night."

"There's the corn field," suggested Dell.

"It has no shelter," objected Priest. "Your corral must protect against the north and west winds."

"The big bend's the place," said Joel. "The creek makes a perfect horseshoe, with bluff banks almost twenty feet high on the north and northwest. One hundred yards of fencing would inclose five acres. Our cows used to shelter there. It's only a mile above the house."

"What's the soil, and how about water?" inquired the gray-haired foreman, arising.

"It's a sand-bar, with a ripple and two long pools in the circle of the creek," promptly replied Joel.

"Bring in the horses," said Priest, looking at his watch; "I'll have time to look it over before leaving."

While awaiting the horses, the practical cowman outlined to Joel certain alterations to the corral at the stable, which admitted of the addition of a branding chute. "You must cut and haul the necessary posts and timber before my return, and when we pa.s.s north, my outfit will build you a chute and brand your cattle the same day. Have the materials on the ground, and I'll bring any needful hardware from the railroad."

A short canter brought the committee to the big bend. The sand-bar was overgrown with weeds high as a man's shoulder on horseback, but the leader, followed by the boys, forced his mount through the tangle until the bend was circled. "It's an ideal winter shelter," said Priest, dismounting to step the entrance, as a preliminary measurement. "A hundred and ten yards," he announced, a few minutes later, "c.o.o.n-skin measurement. You'll need twenty heavy posts and one hundred stays. I'll bring you a roll of wire. That water's everything; a thirsty cow chills easily. Given a dry bed and contented stomach, in this corral your herd can laugh at any storm. It's almost ready made, and there's nothing n.i.g.g.ardly about its proportions."

"When will we put the cattle under herd?" inquired Dell as the trio rode homeward.

"Oh, about the second snowstorm," replied Priest. "After squaw winter's over, there's usually a month to six weeks of Indian summer. It might be as late as the first of December, but it's a good idea to loose-herd awhile; ride around them evening and morning, corral them and leave the gates open, teach them to seek a dry, cosy bed, at least a month before putting the cattle under close-herd. Teach them to drink in the corral, and then they'll want to come home. You boys will just about have to live with your little herd this winter."

"We wintered here once," modestly said Joel, "and I'm sure we can do it again. The storms are the only thing to dread, and we can weather them."

"Of course you can," a.s.sured the trail boss. "It's a ground-hog case; it's hold these cattle or the Indians will eat them for you. Lost during one storm, and your herd is lost for good."

"And about horses: will one apiece be enough?" queried Joel. "Mr. Quince thought two stabled ones would do the winter herding."

"One corn-fed pony will do the work of four gra.s.s horses," replied the cowman. "Herding is no work for horses, provided you spare them. If you must, miss your own dinner, but see that your horse gets his. Dismount and strip the bridle off at every chance, and if you guard against getting caught out in storms, one horse apiece is all you need."