A Horse Called Mogollon (Floating Outfit Book 3) (10 page)

‘
Come
on,’ Libby said hurriedly. ‘Let’s go get the wagon
loaded.’

Watching the blonde return to the
store, Mark grinned. If he read the signs correctly, she had not
been averse to meeting Breda again and looked forward to having his
company during the journey to Kerr County. Maybe she even hoped
that he could extend the period of accompanying her. Not that Mark
considered that to be any of his business. Libby was mature enough
to know what she was doing.

For all that, Mark felt puzzled
by Breda. He owed the stocky Scot his life and liked what he had
seen of the other; but he could not help wondering why that
bow-necked young Yankee lieutenant had so readily accepted
Breda
’s—
a
Texan’s—
version of the incident and made little attempt to disprove
it.

‘
Can’t
you-call
just count on old Mark to pull the easy chores?’ demanded
the Ysabel Kid indignantly. ‘There’s him a-whooping and
a-womanizing down to Fort Sawyer while we’re working like there’s
only one day left to do it.’

If the Indian-dark youngster expected
his comment to produce any sympathy, he was to meet with a
disappointment.

‘
Yah!’
Jeanie Schell scoffed. ‘You’re all riled ’n’ ornery ’cause you’ve
got to do some work afoot.’

‘
So I
should be,’ protested the Kid. ‘Walking’s only fitting for hosses,
food-dawgs, mules, squaws ’n’ white folks.’

‘
In
that order?’ asked Colin Farquharson.

‘
All
the way ’n’ all the time,’ confirmed the Kid.

‘
Day’s
going to come when a gal’ll show you a squaw’s good for some things
that a horse or a food-dog isn’t,’ Dusty Fog warned. ‘See if it
don’t.’
^xiv

‘
Damned
if I can think what them “things”’d be,’ grinned the Kid, taking
one of the coiled ropes from by the
caracol’s
gate. ‘Well, seeing’s there ain’t no
chance of getting out of it, let’s make a start.’

With the
manada de hermanos
safely in the
enclosure, the mustanging party had to carry out the even more
difficult and exacting task of securing them so that they could be
removed. For one thing, the
caracol
had neither food nor water to supply the needs of
the horses. Nor could it be used to trap other
manadas
with the young stallions running
loose inside.

There were various methods by
which the securing could be carried out. Some mustangers fastened a
forked stick to a front ankle of each horse, the shank positioned
to trip the animal by tangling its rear legs if it moved at any
gait swifter
than a walk. Others lashed a block of wood to the mustang’s
foretop which swung and banged against the horse’s face when it
ran. In California, the
mesteneros
frequently blindfolded their catches and allowed
the wild horses to mingle with domesticated mounts. In their
sightless condition, the mustangs stuck close to the other horses.
Probably the most cruel method was that of the Paiute Indians,
stitching shut the nostrils of their captives.

Being humane as well as a shrewd
businessman, Trader Schell would have nothing to do with such cruel
methods. He had taught his family that the unnecessarily brutal
treatment could be avoided and defeated its own ends. Far too many
of the captured horses died as a result of it. Maybe Trader
Schell
’s ways
meant more work, but his losses rarely went higher than one in
twenty. That compared favorably against the one out of five which
died after being caught by the crueler members of the mustanging
business. Nor did the matter end there. The Schells’ horses could
be trained with greater facility and fewer of them became
unmanageable outlaws or mindless, nervous wrecks.

Entering the
caracol
on foot, carrying coiled ropes and
other equipment, the men paired off and made ready to start work.
Jeanie hovered in the background, available to help any couple
requiring assistance.

Picking a brown stallion from
amongst the milling
manada,
Dusty swung his rope and made a fast hooley-ann
throw.
^xv
He aimed true, the loop falling over
the horse’s head and tightening about its neck. Feeling the touch
of the hard-plaited Manila fibers, the brown reared upon its hind
legs in an attempt to escape. That was the reaction sought by the
small Texan.

Working as
Dusty
’s
partner, the Kid brought off a
mangana
throw. Right hand turned downwards, he
sent his loop flying in the horse’s direction so that the circle of
rope stood almost vertically. With perfect timing, the Kid’s loop
encircled the horse’s raised and pawing forelegs. A flick of his
wrists tightened the rope about them. As they returned to the
ground, the trapped legs caused the horse to tumble on to its
side.

Darting in as the animal tried
to rise, Dusty girthed its body with a rawhide strap. While the Kid
held both ropes,
deftly controlling the stallion’s attempts to free itself
or turn on and bite Dusty, the small Texan buckled another strap to
its near rear fetlock. The upper end of the strap connected to the
girth and, on being drawn tight, raised the left hoof from the
ground.

Having fixed the
sarprima,
as mustangers called
such a device, the Texans removed their ropes. Although able to
stand and move with limited freedom, the fastenings effectively
prevented the stallion from travelling at any speed.

Already the more
experienced
mestenero
duos had completed the application of their first
sarprimas
and moved on to the
next horse they had selected for treatment. Allowing the brown to
walk away, Dusty picked out and roped a washy bay. The hooley-ann
head-catch fell with an equal precision to his first attempt.
Ensnared by the Kid’s
mangana
throw, the horse went down. However, the
sarprima
was not applied by
the team.

‘
Hey,
Jeanie-gal!’ called the Kid. ‘Take a look at this here
sorry-looking critter Dusty’s catched.’

Joining the speaker, the girl
agreed with his opinion of the horse. Cow-hocked, long-backed and
with its legs
‘coming out of the same hole’ in its narrow chest, the
horse had a very poor conformation.

‘
He’s
no use,’ Jeanie declared. ‘We couldn’t even sell him to you OD
Connected yahoos. Turn him loose until we’re through.’

The work of applying the
sarprimas
continued. Not all
the horses accepted the treatment with docility. There were several
narrow escapes as members of the mustanging party had to leap or
dart clear of lashing hooves and snapping teeth. Dusty came close
to having to shoot one stallion, more determined than its
companions to make mischief. However, Carlos’ and Bernardo’s ropes
augmented his own and the Kid’s. Between them, the four men
enforced their will on the recalcitrant mustang and strapped up its
leg. Being released, it attempted to carry on the dispute. It
tripped and the force of the fall knocked all the aggression from
it.

Roped by Colin, a coyote-dun
horse refused to rear and allow Felix to use the
mangana.
Instead, it advanced
and backed away with all four hooves close to the ground. Its
tactics availed it nothing. Coming in from the left instead
of
at the
front, Felix demonstrated the difference between a
mangana
and a fore-footing
throw.

Out sailed the short,
leathery-faced
mestenero’s
rope. The medium-sized loop passed over the stallion’s
right shoulder and a little ahead of it, in a position to accept
both front feet as it moved forward. Giving an inwards twist to the
stem of the rope, Felix made it flip to the rear and caused the
loop to rise, striking against the horse’s knees. A jerk on the
stem completed the throw and brought the coyote-dun down. Giving it
no time to recover. Felix dashed in and fastened on the
sarprima.

About to cast a loop at a
passing dark brown horse, Bernardo noticed its splayed feet,
ewe-neck and signs of age. Such a decrepit-looking animal would be
of no use to any buyer, so he did not waste his
team
’s time
by catching it.

At last, with the sun sinking
towards the western horizon, the work was completed. Twenty-four
stallions hobbled slowly in the grip of their
sarprimas
and five others were driven from
the
caracol
to resume their freedom. The five had been discarded as too
old or mediocre to be of use.

‘
Whooee!’ Jeanie breathed, watching the rejected horses
racing away. ‘I’m not sorry that’s over.’

‘
Or
me,’ Colin admitted, slipping an arm about her waist and squeezing
it gently. ‘Hey, Lon. How about you and I standing the first watch?
We Scots and Indians are better able to accept hardships than the
lesser peoples of the world.’

‘
Seeing’s you put it that way, I’m on,’ answered the Kid.
‘Only it’s
Injuns
and
Scots.’

‘
Come
on, Jeanie,
mesteneros,’
Dusty called. ‘Let’s get going before these pair of blasted
heathens stomp up a war-dance.’

Although Jeanie had hoped that
Colin would ride back to the camp with her, she raised no
objections. A guard would have to be set on the corral until
morning. The horses could not be moved before the next day, so
required watching over to protect them from human beings or
prowling predatory animals. Colin
always took his share of such duties, so
Jeanie read no special significance in his suggestion.

‘
Don’t
you pair let anybody sneak them away from you,’ the girl ordered,
then went to collect her horse.

‘
We
made a good gather, Lon,’ Colin remarked after Jeanie, Dusty, and
the
mesteneros
had gone from sight.

‘
Why
sure,’ agreed the Kid. ‘Likely Dusty’ll take most of ’em for
our
remuda.
’Less
we lose too many gelding ’em, they ought to do for
us.’

Only geldings were permitted in
a ranch
’s
remuda.
Stallions tended to fight and mares had the habit of
bunch-quitting when on heat, taking several susceptible males along
with them. So the mustangs captured that day would need to be
castrated before joining the others which had been rendered
acceptable for use by the OD Connected’s cowhands.

‘
We’ll
not lose many,’ Colin promised. ‘Felix’s better than any trained
veterinarian I’ve seen at gelding.’

‘
He’s
tolerable good,’ admitted the Kid. ‘Must’ve learned from the
Nemenuh.’

‘
Isn’t
there
anything
you Comanches can’t do better than other people?’ Colin
inquired, knowing
‘Nemenuh’
meant ‘The People’ and was the Comanches’ name for their
tribe.

‘
Can’t
rightly think of it, even
if
there could be,’ the Kid declared and eyed his companion in
a speculative manner. ‘Did you-all have some special reason for
asking me to stay on here with you?’

‘
I
need some advice.’

‘
Which’s anybody, near on, ’d tell you, you’ve come to the
best feller around to give it. What’s up?’

‘
I
want to catch Mogollon.’

If Colin expected the Kid to
show surprise, or any other emotion, he was to be disappointed. The
dark youngster nodded soberly and drawled,
‘I figure you’ve got a good reason
for wanting him.’

‘
Jeanie
would like to have him,’ Colin replied. ‘But there’s more to it
than that. The way I see it, Lon, mustanging as we’re doing it in
Texas right now can’t go on for too many years.’

‘
How’d
you make that out,
amigo?’
asked the Kid. ‘There’re plenty of wild hosses
around.’

‘
That
there are, right now. But not for much longer. Not good horses,
anyway. You saw what happened today. After we’d caught the
manada,
we turned five of
them loose again.’

‘
They
weren’t worth keeping,’ the Kid pointed out.

‘
That’s
what I mean,’ Colin elaborated. ‘Ever since Texans and Mexicans
started catching mustangs, they’ve been turned the worthless
animals back on to the range. They’ve caught or killed the
manaderos
and the culls are
given chances to mate with mares that wouldn’t come with healthy
stallions around. So the culls pass their faults on to the foals.
The stock gets poorer. In twenty years, the mustangs will hardly be
worth the trouble of catching.’