The Outlet

The trip to Lasalle County was mere pastime.  All three of the outfits kept in touch with each other, camping far enough apart to avoid any conflict in night-herding the remudas.  The only incident to mar the pleasure of the outing was the discovery of ticks in many of our horses’ ears.  The pasture in which they had wintered was somewhat brushy, and as there had been no frost to kill insect life, myriads of seed-ticks had dropped from the mesquite thickets upon the animals when rubbing against or passing underneath them.  As the inner side of a horse’s ear is both warm and tender, that organ was frequently infested with this pest, whose ravages often undermined the supporting cartilages and produced the drooping or “gotch” ear.  In my remuda over one half the horses were afflicted with ticks, and many of them it was impossible to bridle, owing to the inflamed condition of their ears.  Fortunately we had with us some standard preparations for blistering, so, diluting this in axle-grease, we threw every animal thus affected and thoroughly swabbed his ears.  On reaching the Nueces River, near the western boundary of Lasalle County, the other two outfits continued on down that stream for their destination in the lower country.  Flood remained behind with me, and going into camp on the river with my outfit, the two of us rode over to Los Lobos Ranch and announced ourselves as ready to receive the cattle.  Dr. Beaver, the seller of the herd, was expecting us, and sending word of our arrival to neighboring cowmen, we looked over the corrals before returning to camp.  They had built a new branding-chute and otherwise improved their facilities for handling cattle.  The main inclosure had been built of heavy palisades in an early day, but recently several of smaller sized lumber had been added, making the most complete corrals I had ever seen.  An abundance of wood was at hand for heating the branding-irons, and every little detail to facilitate the work had been provided for.  Giving notice that we would receive every morning on the open prairie only, we declined an invitation to remain at the ranch and returned to my wagon.

In the valley the grass was well forward.  We had traveled only some twenty miles a day coming down, and our horses had fared well.  But as soon as we received any cattle, night-herding the remuda would cease, and we must either hobble or resort to other measures.  John Levering was my horse-wrangler.  He had made two trips over the trail with Fant’s herds in the same capacity, was careful, humane, and an all-round horseman.  In employing a cook, I had given the berth to Neal Parent, an old boyhood chum of mine.  He never amounted to much as a cow-hand, but was a lighthearted, happy fool; and as cooking did not require much sense, I gave him the chance to make his first trip.  Like a court jester, he kept the outfit in fine spirits and was the butt of all jokes.  In entertaining company he was in a class by himself, and spoke with marked familiarity of all the prominent cowmen in southern Texas.  To a stranger the inference might be easily drawn that Lovell was in his employ.

As we were expecting to receive cattle on the third day, the next morning the allotment of horses was made.  The usual custom of giving the foreman first choice was claimed, and I cut twelve of solid colors but not the largest ones.  Taking turns, the outfit roped out horse after horse until only the ten extra ones were left.  In order that these should bear a fair share in the work, I took one of them for a night-horse and allotted the others to the second, third, and last guard in a similar capacity.  This gave the last three watches two horses apiece for night work, but with the distinct understanding that in case of accident or injury to any horse in the remuda, they could be recalled.  There was little doubt that before the summer ended, they would be claimed to fill vacancies in the regular mounts.  Flood had kept behind only two horses with which to overtake the other outfits, and during his stay with us would ride these extras and loans from my mount.

The entire morning was spent working with the remuda.  Once a man knew his mount, extra attention was shown each horse.  There were witches’ bridles to be removed from their manes, extra long tails were thinned out to the proper length, and all hoofs trimmed short.  The horses were fast shedding their winter coats, matting the saddle blankets with falling hair, and unless carefully watched, galled backs would result.  The branding-irons had been altered en route, and about noon a vaquero came down the river and reported that the second round-up of the day would meet just over the county line in Dimmit.  He belonged at Los Lobos, and reported the morning rodeo as containing over five hundred beeves, which would be ready for delivery at our pleasure.  We made him remain for dinner, after which Flood and I saddled up and returned with him.  We reached the round-up just as the cutting-out finished.  They were a fine lot of big rangy beeves, and Jim suggested that we pass upon them at once.  The seller agreed to hold them overnight, and Flood and I culled back about one hundred and twenty which were under age or too light.  The round-up outfit strung the cattle out and counted them, reporting a few over seven hundred head.  This count was merely informal and for the information of the seller; but in the morning the final one would be made, in which we could take a hand.

After the cut had started in for the ranch, we loitered along, looking them over, and I noticed several that might have been thrown out.  “Well, now,” said Flood, “if you are going to be so very choice as all that, I might as well ride on.  You can’t use me if that bunch needs any more trimming.  I call them a fine lot of beeves.  It’s all right for Don to rib the boys up and make them think that the cattle have to be top-notchers.  I’ve watched him receive too often; he’s about the easiest man I know to ring in short ages on.  Just so a steer looks nice, it’s hard for the old man to turn one back.  I’ve seen him receiving three-year-olds, when one fourth of the cattle passed on were short twos.  And if you call his attention to one, he’ll just smile that little smile of his, and say, ’yes, he may be shy a few months, but he’ll grow.’  But then that’s just old man Don’s weakness for cattle; he can’t look a steer in the face without falling in love with him.  Now, I’ve received before when by throwing out one half the stock offered, you couldn’t get as uniform a bunch of beeves as those are.  But you go right ahead, Tom, and be sure that every hoof you accept will dress five hundred pounds at Fort Buford.  I’ll simply sit around and clerk and help you count and give you a good chance to make a reputation.”

Los Lobos was still an open range.  They claimed to have over ten thousand mixed cattle in the straight ranch brand.  There had been no demand for matured beeves for several years, and now on effecting this sale they were anxious to deliver all their grown steers.  Dr. Beaver informed us that, previous to our arrival, his foreman had been throwing everything in on the home range, and that he hoped to deliver to us over two thousand head from his own personal holdings.  But he was liberal with his neighbors, for in the contingent just passed upon, there must have been over a hundred head in various ranch brands.  Assuring him that we would be on hand in the morning to take possession of the cattle, and requesting him to have a fire burning, on coming opposite the camp, we turned off and rode for our wagon.  It meant a big day’s work to road-brand this first contingent, and with the first sign of dawn, my outfit were riding for Los Lobos.  We were encamped about three miles from the corrals, and leaving orders for the cook to follow up, the camp was abandoned with the exception of the remuda.  It was barely sun-up when we counted and took possession of the beeves.  On being relieved, the foreman of Los Lobos took the ranch outfit and started off to renew the gathering.  We penned the cattle without any trouble, and as soon as the irons were ready, a chuteful were run in and the branding commenced.  This branding-chute was long enough to chamber eight beeves.  It was built about a foot wide at the bottom and flared upward just enough to prevent an animal from turning round.  A heavy gate closed the exit, while bull-bars at the rear prevented the occupant from backing out.  A high platform ran along either side of the branding-chute, on which the men stood while handling the irons.

Two men did the branding.  “Runt” Pickett attended the fire, passing up the heated irons, and dodging the cold branding-steel.  A single iron was often good for several animals, and sometimes a chuteful was branded with two irons.  It was necessary that the work should be well done; not that a five months’ trip required it, but the unforeseen must be guarded against.  Many trail herds had met disaster and been scattered to the four winds with nothing but a road brand to identify them afterward.  The cattle were changing owners, and custom decreed that an abstract of title should be indelibly seared on their sides.  The first guard, Jake Blair, Morg Tussler, and Clay Zilligan, were detailed to cut and drive the squads into the chute.  These three were the only mounted men, the others being placed so as to facilitate the work.  Cattle are as innocent as they are strong, and in this necessary work everything was done quietly, care being taken to prevent them from becoming excited.  As fast as they were released from the chute, Dr. Beaver took a list of the ranch brands, in order to bill of sale them to Lovell and settle with his neighbors.

The work moved with alacrity.  As one chuteful was being freed the next one was entering.  Gates closed in their faces and the bull-bars at the rear locked them as in a vice.  We were averaging a hundred an hour, but the smoke from the burning hair was offensive to the lungs.  During the forenoon Burl Van Vedder and Vick Wolf “spelled” Flood and myself for half an hour at a time, or until we could recover from the nauseous fumes.  When the cook called us to dinner, we had turned out nearly five hundred branded cattle.  No sooner was the midday meal bolted than the cook was ordered back to camp with his wagon, the branded contingent of cattle following in charge of the first guard.  Less than half an hour was lost in refreshing the inner man, and ordering “G—­G” Cederdall, Tim Stanley, and Jack Splann of the second guard into their saddles to take the place of the relieved men, we resumed our task.  The dust of the corrals settled on us unheeded, the smoke of the fire mingled with that of the singeing hair and its offensive odors, bringing tears to our eyes, but the work never abated until the last steer had passed the chute and bore the “Open A.”

The work over, a pretense was made at washing the dust and grime from our faces.  It was still early in the day, and starting the cattle for camp, I instructed the boys to water and graze them as long as they would stand up.  The men all knew their places on guard, this having been previously arranged; and joining Dr. Beaver, Jim and I rode for the ranch about a mile distant.  The doctor was a genial host, and prescribed a series of mint-juleps, after which he proposed that we ride out and meet the cattle gathered during the day.  The outfit had been working a section of country around some lagoons, south of the ranch, and it was fully six o’clock when we met them, heading homeward.  The cattle were fully up to the standard of the first bunch, and halting the herd we trimmed them down and passed on them.  After Flood rode out of this second contingent, I culled back about a dozen light weights.  On finishing, Jim gave me a quiet wink, and said something to Dr. Beaver about a new broom.  But I paid no attention to these remarks; in a country simply teeming with prime beeves, I was determined to get a herd to my liking.  Dr. Beaver had assured Lovell that he and his neighbors would throw together over four thousand beeves in making up the herd, and now I was perfectly willing that they should.  It would take two days longer to gather the cattle on the Los Lobos range, and then there were the outside offerings, which were supposed to number fully two thousand.  There was no excuse for not being choice.

On returning to Los Lobos about dusk, rather than offend its owner, Flood consented to remain at the ranch overnight, but I rode for camp.  Darkness had fallen on my reaching the wagon, the herd had been bedded down, and Levering felt so confident that the remuda was contented that he had concluded to night-herd them himself until midnight, and then turn them loose until dawn.  He had belled a couple of the leaders, and assured me that he would have them in hand before sun-up.  The cook was urging me to supper, but before unsaddling, I rode around both herd and remuda.  The cattle were sleeping nicely, and the boys assured me that they had got a splendid fill on them before bedding down.  That was the only safe thing to do, and after circling the saddle stock on the opposite side of camp, I returned to find that a stranger had arrived during my brief absence.  Parent had fully enlightened him as to who he was, who the outfit were, the destination of the herd, the names of both buyer and seller, and, on my riding in, was delivering a voluble dissertation on the tariff and the possible effect on the state of putting hides on the free list.  And although in cow-camps a soldier’s introduction is usually sufficient, the cook inquired the stranger’s name and presented me to our guest with due formality.  Supper being waiting, the stranger was invited to take pot-luck with us, and before the meal was over recognized me.  He was a deputy cattle inspector for Dimmit County, and had issued the certificate for Flood’s herd the year before.  He had an eye for the main chance, and informed me that fully one half the cattle making up our herd belonged to Dimmit; that the county line was only a mile up the river, and that if I would allow the herd to drift over into his territory, he would shade the legal rate.  The law compelling the inspection of herds before they could be moved out of the county, like the rain, fell upon the just and the unjust.  It was not the intent of the law to impose a burden on an honest drover.  Yet he was classed with the rustler, and must have in his possession a certificate of inspection before he could move out a purchased herd, or be subject to arrest.  A list of brands was recorded, at the county seat, of every herd leaving, and if occasion required could be referred to in future years.  No railroad would receive any consignment of hides or live stock, unless accompanied by a certificate from the county inspector.  The legal rate was ten cents on the first hundred, and three cents on all over that number, frequently making the office a lucrative one.

Once the object of his call was made clear, I warmed to our guest.  If the rate allowed by law was enforced, it meant an expense of over a hundred dollars for a certificate of inspection covering both herd and saddle stock.  We did not take out certificates in Medina on the remudas as a matter of economy.  By waiting until the herd was ready, the two would be inspected as one, and the lower rate apply.  So I urged the deputy to make himself at home and share my blankets.  Pretending that I remembered him well, I made numerous inquiries about the ranch where we received our herd the year before, and by the time to turn in, we were on the most friendly terms.  The next morning I offered him a horse from our extras, assuring him that Flood would be delighted to renew his acquaintance, and invited him to go with us for the day.  Turning his horse among ours, he accepted and rode away with us.  The cattle passed on the evening before had camped out several miles from the corrals and were grazing in when we met them.  Flood and the Doctor joined us shortly afterward, and I had a quiet word with Jim before he and the inspector met.  After the count was over, Flood made a great ado over my guest and gave him the glad hand as if he had been a long-lost brother.  We were a trifle short-handed the second day, and on my guest volunteering to help, I assigned him to Runt Pickett’s place at the fire, where he shortly developed a healthy sweat.  As we did not have a large bunch of beeves to brand that day, the wagon did not come over and we branded them at a single shift.  It was nearly one o’clock when we finished, and instead of going in to Los Lobos, we left the third guard, Wayne Outcault, “Dorg” Seay, and Owen Ubery, to graze the cattle over to our camp.

The remainder of the afternoon was spent in idleness and in the entertainment of our guest.  Official-like, he pretended he could hardly spare the time to remain another night, but was finally prevailed on and did so.  After dark, I took him some distance from camp, and the two of us had a confidential chat.  I assured him if there was any object in doing so, we could move camp right to or over the county line, and frankly asked him what inducement he would offer.  At first he thought that throwing off everything over a hundred dollars would be about right.  But I assured him that there were whole families of inspectors in Lasalle County who would discount that figure, and kindly advised him, if he really wanted the fee, to meet competition at least.  We discussed the matter at length, and before returning to camp, he offered to make out the certificate, covering everything, for fifty dollars.  As it was certain to be several days yet before we would start, and there was a prospect of a falling market in certificates of inspection, I would make no definite promises.  The next morning I insisted that he remain at some near-by ranch in his own territory, and, if convenient, ride down every few days and note the progress of the herd.

We were promised a large contingent of cattle for that day.  The ranch outfit were to make three rodeos down the river the day before, where the bulk of their beeves ranged.  Flood was anxious to overtake the other outfits before they reached the lower country, and as he assured me I had no further use for him, we agreed that after receiving that morning he might leave us.  Giving orders at camp to graze the received beeves within a mile of the corrals by noon, and the wagon to follow, we made an early start, Flood taking his own horses with him.  We met the cattle coming up the river a thousand strong.  It was late when the last round-up of the day before had finished, and they had camped for the night fully five miles from the corrals.  It took less than an hour to cull back and count, excuse the ranch outfit, and start this contingent for the branding-pens in charge of my boys.  Flood was in a hurry, and riding a short distance with him, I asked that he pass or send word to the county seat, informing the inspector of hides and animals that a trail herd would leave Los Lobos within a week.  Jim knew my motive in getting competition on the inspection, and wishing me luck on my trip, I wrung his hand in farewell until we should meet again in the upper country.

The sun was setting that night when we finished road-branding the last of the beeves received in the morning.  After dinner, when the wagon returned to camp, I instructed Parent to move up the river fully a mile.  We needed the change, anyhow, and even if it was farther, the next morning we would have the Los Lobos outfit to assist in the branding, as that day would finish their gathering.  The outside cattle were beginning to report in small bunches, from three hundred upward.  Knowing that Dr. Beaver was anxious to turn in as many as possible of his own, we delayed receiving from the neighboring ranches for another day.  But the next morning, as we were ironing-up the last contingent of some four hundred Los Lobos beeves, a deputy inspector for Lasalle arrived from the county seat.  He was likewise officious, and professed disappointment that the herd was not ready to pass upon.  On his arrival, I was handling the irons, and paid no attention to him until the branding was over for the morning.  When he introduced himself, I cordially greeted him, but at the first intimation of disappointment from his lips, I checked him.

Using the best diplomacy at my command, I said, “Well, I’m sorry to cause you this long ride when it might have been avoided.  You see, we are receiving cattle from both this and Dimmit County.  In fact, we are holding our herd across the line just at present.  On starting, we expect to go up the river to the first creek, and north on it to the Leona River.  I have partially promised the work to an inspector from Dimmit.  He inspected our herd last year, and being a personal friend that way, you couldn’t meet his figures.  Very sorry to disappoint you, but won’t you come over to the wagon and stay all night?”

But Dr. Beaver, who understood my motive, claimed the privilege of entertaining the deputy at Los Lobos, and I yielded.  We now had a few over twenty-four hundred beeves, of which nineteen hundred were in the Los Lobos brand, the others being mixed.  There was a possibility of fully a hundred more coming in with the neighboring cattle, and Dr. Beaver was delighted over the ranch delivery.  The outside contingents were in four bunches, then encamped in different directions and within from three to five miles of the ranch.  Taking Vick Wolf with me for the afternoon, I looked over the separate herds and found them numbering more than fifteen hundred.  They were the same uniform Nueces Valley cattle, and as we lacked only a few over a thousand, the offerings were extremely liberal.  Making arrangements with three of the four herds to receive the next day, Vick and I reached our camp on the county line about sunset.  The change was a decided advantage; wood, water, and grass were plentiful, and not over a mile farther from the branding-pens.

The next morning found us in our saddles at the usual early hour.  We were anxious to receive and brand every animal possible that day, so that with a few hours’ work the next forenoon the herd would be ready to start.  After we had passed on the first contingent of the outside cattle, and as we were nearing the corrals, Dr. Beaver overtook us.  Calling me aside, he said:  “Quirk, if you play your cards right, you’ll get a certificate of inspection for nothing and a chromo as a pelon.  I’ve bolstered up the Lasalle man that he’s better entitled to the work than the Dimmit inspector, and he’ll wait until the herd is ready to start.  Now, you handle the one, and I’ll keep the other as my guest.  We must keep them apart and let them buck each other to their hearts’ content.  Every hoof in your herd will be in a ranch brand of record; but still the law demands inspection and you must comply with it.  I’ll give you a duplicate list of the brands, so that neither inspector need see the herd, and if we don’t save your employer a hundred dollars, then we are amateurs.”

Everything was pointing to an auspicious start.  The last cattle on the delivery were equal to the first, if not better.  The sky clouded over, and before noon a light shower fell, settling the dust in the corrals.  Help increased as the various bunches were accepted, and at the end of the day only a few over two hundred remained to complete our numbers.  The last contingent were fully up to the standard; and rather than disappoint the sellers, I accepted fifty head extra, making my herd at starting thirty-four hundred and fifty.  When the last beef had passed the branding-chute, there was nothing remaining but to give a receipt to the seller for the number of head received, in behalf of my employer, pending a later settlement between them.

Meanwhile competition in the matter of inspection had been carefully nursed.  Conscious of each other’s presence, and both equally anxious for the fee, the one deputy was entertained at my camp and the other at Los Lobos.  They were treated courteously, but given to understand that in the present instance money talked.  With but a small bunch of beeves to brand on the starting day, the direction in which the herd was allowed to leave the bed-ground would be the final answer.  If west, Dimmit had underbid Lasalle; if the contrary, then the departure of this herd would be a matter of record in the latter county.  Dr. Beaver enjoyed the situation hugely, acting the intermediary in behalf of his guest.  Personally I was unconcerned, but was neutral and had little to say.

My outfit understood the situation perfectly.  Before retiring on the night of our last camp on the county line, and in the presence of the Dimmit inspector, the last relief received instructions, in the absence of contrary orders, to allow the herd to drift back into Lasalle in the morning.  Matters were being conducted in pantomime, and the players understood their parts.  Our guest had made himself useful in various ways, and I naturally felt friendly towards him.  He had stood several guards for the boys, and Burl Van Vedder, of the last watch, had secret instructions to call him for that guard.

The next morning the camp was not astir as early as usual.  On the cook’s arousing us, in the uncertain light of dawn, the herd was slowly rising, and from the position of a group of four horsemen, it was plainly evident that our guest had shaded all competition.  Our camp was in plain view of Los Lobos, and only some five or six miles distant.  With the rising of the sun, and from the top of a windmill derrick, by the aid of a field-glass, the Lasalle inspector had read his answer; and after the work in the morning was over, and the final papers had been exchanged, Dr. Beaver insisted that, in commiseration of his departed guest, just one more mint-julep should be drunk standing.

When Don Lovell glanced over my expense account on our arrival at Abilene, he said:  “Look here, Tom, is this straight ?—­twenty dollars for inspection?—­the hell you say!  Corrupted them, did you?  Well, that’s the cheapest inspection I ever paid, with one exception.  Dave Sponsilier once got a certificate for his herd for five dollars and a few drinks.  But he paid for it a month in advance of the starting of the herd.  It was dated ahead, properly sealed, and all ready for filling in the brands and numbers.  The herd was put up within a mile of where four counties cornered, and that inspector was a believer in the maxim of the early bird.  The office is a red-tape one, anyhow, and little harm in taking all the advantage you can.—­This item marked ‘sundries’ was dry goods, I suppose?  All right, Quirk; I reckon rattlesnakes were rather rabid this spring.”