Wild Cow Tales (26 page)

Well the screech-and-scream class really went into action! These ole gals bawled about twice and made a head-on run for the crowd. If rodeo cowboys think they invented jumpin’ in barrels, they are mistaken. Miss Effie rose and lit in the trash barrel, and all the flowers of young womanhood scooted up these live-oak trees faster than any school of squirrels could’ve ever thought of. One ole cow hit the barrel Miss Effie was in and jarred a stave
loose, and that jarred some staves that Miss Effie had on I Miss Effie reached high “C” in such voice that it boogered the ole cow, and she took to the brush without gettin’ a drink of water. Another longhorn ole cow grabbed that checked tablecloth and garnished the landscape with tuna-fish sandwiches, deviled eggs, and ladyfinger cookies.

This four or five head of cows had decided that they’d delivered a sufficient welcome and drifted on back up into the canyon.

So Miss Effie’s “shriek and shrill” girls came down out of the trees and got Miss Effie out of the trash barrel and hastily departed, leaving little patches of bloomer material of various colors on the snags of that live-oak thicket, clear to the topmost limbs!

On Sunday night if a cowboy got a date with one of the village belles, ya had to go to church. At least for a little while!

I was settin’ over in a dark corner with the rest of the young blades, and as the music was about to start and Miss Effie had struck a chord on the organ, Ole Spendthrift and Mrs. Spendthrift made their entrance and set down in their favorite pew about halfway down the aisle from the front to the back.

After the usual amount of singin’ and prayin’ the preacher got up, and before he read from the Holy Word, he had a very stern statement to make about the horrible experience that the young ladies and Miss Effie had been subjected to by the uncontrollable brutes in Drippin’ Springs Canyon. He elaborated in very sanctified tones on the ill state of affairs in a community when any decent
member of society would keep wild cattle that were a threat to the life and limb of the young people who so much wished to enjoy the wonders of the great outdoors where they could enjoy God’s handiwork.

Ole Spendthrift set there and turned pink. I was settin’ to his back a good way, but I could see red run around the top of that white collar.

No sooner than the preacher said “Amen” than half the mothers of the town made to Ole Spendthrift’s pew and went to givin’ him large pieces of their minds about the danger that he was heapin’ onto their children. You could sure see him flinch, his voice got low and scrapy, he brought out a spotless handkerchief and dabbed the sweat from his brow as he tried to give them ever’ assurance that these cows would be gotten out of Drippin’ Springs Canyon. Up until now, he claimed that he didn’t realize that they had actually been a threat to the social activities of the community … but ever’body knew that wasn’t the truth.

As I started out at the church door with my gal, he called my name in a very dignified voice, and I stopped and waited for him to walk back to where we were standin’. In the most apologetic tone of voice he asked me could I come by the bank in the morning. Well, for once my bankin’ business was in pretty good shape, so I told him I’d be by when I came to town.

I tied my horse in the side street the next morning. As I came around the corner of the bank, Ole Spendthrift was lookin’ out of the winder watchin’ for me. He motioned for me to come in. We set down at his desk; he had one of those nice, big armchairs pulled up in the right
place for me. He started out with some very light conversation about my cow business and my horses and things that I knew he wasn’t interested in, and directly he came to the point.

He said, “Ben, what would you pay me for those cows in Drippin’ Springs Canyon, range delivery?”

I set and looked at him a few minutes and said, “Nothin’!”

This was a rare occasion for me. I had money in the bank to run me through the winter, my grass leases were paid, I had plenty of good horses, and lots of feed laid in—it was rather unusual for me to be in this good a financial condition. And l’as talkin’ to a banker that had some of his business in worse shape than mine, namely, them wild cows in Drippin’ Springs Canyon. Most all the workin’ cowboys in the community had steady jobs or steady wives (when cowboys marry these young things they promise them that they will “quit doin’ ” lots of things—bronc horses and bad cattle are generally the first two) or some other legitimate excuse for not botherin’ with that bunch of ole wild cows. So I wasn’t afraid of this deal gettin’ away from me, and I thought I’d just make it as hard on Ole Spendthrift as I could, which was the way he usually did it to me.

He said, “Now, Ben, you know those cows are worth $50 a head and there’s about twenty head of ’em and half of ’em have calves big enough to wean, and I know that you’ve got the time to catch these cattle and get ’em out of that pasture and I want it done to get Miss Effie and the preacher and the rest of the womenfolk in the community, includin’ my own wife, off of my back, so I’ll ask
you again what would you give for my cows, range delivery?”

I told him that I hadn’t planned on spendin’ the winter fightin’ a bunch of damned ole wild cows and if he would agree to give me a lease on the pasture, until April 1, I would agree to give him a note for the cows at a price, but that I wasn’t takin’ money out of the bank to spend for cows, range delivery, in the wintertime.

He knew this all made good sense and I could see that a lot of the starch was gone out of his conversation. He had his mouth puckered up like a sheep that had just eat a bitter acorn and he’as scratchin’ his jaw, tryin to figger out how to protec’ his interest.

He finally broke the silence by askin’ what that figure per head would be. I got off the subject by askin’ him about the colts on three ole wild mares that was in the pasture. He said that he didn’t know how the mares come to have colts, that to his certain knowledge there hadn’t been a stud in that pasture in several years (what he didn’t know was that to my certain knowledge I had turned a stud in the pasture the year before and left him long enough to be sure the mares were bred … figurin’ on buyin’ the colts at the right time, and this was it), and that he didn’t think the colts was worth much money; if I wanted to try to catch ’em he’d sell ’em to me in the deal. And he came back to askin’ me how much per head I’d give for the cows.

I finally straightened up in the chair, stiffened my neck, and cleared my voice and sounded just as hard as anybody’s banker when I said, “I’ll give $25 a head for the cows and $10 a head for the calves and colts and any
other cattle that’s in the pasture.” (He didn’t know it, but there was two or three yearlings left in there from last year’s calf crop.)

He choked and swallered and scraped his feet on the marble floor, run his hands through what hair he had left and tried to moisten his lips, and in a whipped kind of voice said, “I won’t take it.”

I smiled and got up and said, “I’m sure glad of that. Good-bye.”

He raised up and said, “Don’t you ‘good-bye’ me. Set down in that chair while I make out the note. At least I’ll make a little interest out of the deal.”

I loafed up and down the street a few minutes and walked in the country café where the usual gathering of cowboys, ole cowmen, and ranchers and the workin’ people of the town were gathered for coffee. The grapevine had worked pretty fast. Because I didn’t have my Coke half drank when an old-time rancher cleared his voice behind me and said, “Ben, I hear you bought the Drippin’ Springs Canyon cattle, range delivery.” Some of ’em swallered their hot coffee, others spewed it out, but they all turned and looked at me and you could tell what they’as all thinkin’:
How damn crazy can you get?

People don’t understand about cowboys. In the fall when the shippin’s all over and before the winter work starts, when young cowboys come to town they go to the pool hall. The middle-aged cowboys take it a little less strenuous and sit down and play dominoes. The sure ’nuff ole-timers that took the range away from the wilds and built the fences and established the ranch headquarters and built the schools and communities, they set mostly in
silence and do the listenin’ and the thinkin’ that’s carried on at coffeetime.

The young cowboys whistled and laughed and asked how many horses I’d cripple and who did I think would have little ’nuff sense to ride in that canyon to gather wild cattle besides me. The middle-aged kind of domino-playin’ cowboys … one of them spoke up and said, “Did you pay cash or did you give a note for ’em?” I told ’em I give a note for ’em. Ever’body laughed again and said anybody that didn’t have no more sense than to give a note for range-delivery cattle could pay for all the drinks.

After a few minutes of silence, ole man Alph said, “Ben, ya got any plans about how you gonna trap them cows?”

I’d been a-studyin’ about it, and I told him that when we got all these loose-tongued, twentieth-century manicured cowboys out of the gatherin’, I’d take it up with the old heads. It was five or six of these ole-timers and they all kinda laughed and nodded their heads at me like they was kinda for me. The gal came around and warmed up the coffee a time or two, and the gatherin’ finally broke up in one’s and two’s, and left me settin’ there with the mornin’ tab. This didn’t shock me none. I paid off and went on back to my horse and rode off toward Drippin’ Springs Canyon.

Before hard winter set in I made a few wild runs at these ole cows, caught six head by ropin’ ’em, then I’d get ’em wrapped around a tree so they couldn’t fight my horse, go home and bring a lead steer in and yoke ’em to this lead steer with a big, soft rope and drive ’em one at a time to my home ranch, which was about ten miles. It
was a full day’s work to catch one cow, get her out of the canyon and to my ranch. This kind of cow-gatherin’ was hard on horses and riggin’. Each time I caught a cow I was in for a day’s fight.

One pretty Sunday afternoon I propositioned the high-school-size cowboys to help me, with the intention of cuttin’ the calves away from the cows and runnin’ ’em down the middle of the canyon and out the gate. There was fifteen of these aspirin’ young Saturday-night cowboys and we managed to get seven calves and the three colts off of the ole mares out of the pasture and to my home ranch the same day.

That left me fourteen cows and two yearlings in the pasture, and I didn’t bother them any for the rest of the winter. There was lotsa grass in the canyon and I didn’t especially need that bunch of ole fightin’ cows at my ranch to feed through the winter.

I heard a lot of smart talk around the fire all that winter about my cow trade. This wasn’t a new experience to me, which never did bring me to tears nor cause me to worry about that note that wasn’t due till the first of April. The last of the February grass was green enough and it looked like we were gonna have a good spring, and I knew I’d better catch those ole cows before they got on the mend.

Ole Man Alph had a pasture that joined the canyon pasture on the back side high up on the prairie. I went to him and asked him if I could cut a gate where his fence line cornered with the canyon pasture, which was way out on the bald prairie. I told him that I wanted to build about two good corrals just inside his pasture. We were
settin’ on the south side of the drugstore enjoyin’ the afternoon winter sunshine and no one else was listenin’ to our conversation. He said, “Ben, I’ll do better’n that. I’ve needed some workin’ pens in the back side of that pasture a long time, just about where you’re talkin’ about, and I’ll build ’em and have ’em ready for your use in about two weeks.”

The ole man was bein’ so good about it all that I nearly choked down. I told him that I’d come over and help with diggin’ the postholes and puttin’ up the fence. He told me that I needn’t worry about that, that he had plenty of hands that was about through with their winter feedin’ and that he’d see that the matter was tended to.

I was in the canyon in a few days and rode up on top of the ridge and sure enough the corrals were nearly finished and the gates were already cut in the pasture fence.

I had a pen full of young bulls at my ranch that I had fed all winter and had ’em in good shape to turn out in the spring when my cows began to calve. These young bulls had begin to fight and walk the fence and bawl. I took four young bulls out in the road and grazed them and drove them very slowly, went around the edge of town with them, and over to Ole Man Alph’s pasture. I got ’em in the pens just at dark. They were a little jaded and laid down and spent the night without any commotion.

Next morning Alph loaned me a wagon and team and some barrels to haul water and feed and let one of his hands go help me. We spent most of the morning haulin’ alfalfa hay and fresh windmill water and gettin’ these bulls comfortable in one pen for several days’ stay. I wired these new gates shut and tied extra poles across ’em
to be sure that these young bulls couldn’t git out, and then I opened the adjoining pen that led out into the Drippin’ Springs pasture. I threw two or three bales of alfalfa hay into that pen, too.

Well, like I said, the grass was gettin’ green, the bulls had begin to fight, and the cows had begin to bawl, and I was countin’ on that bunch of young bulls romancin’ them ole cows out of that canyon into that pen.

’Bout the second day after this long drive these bulls had been on, they began to fight and bawl and paw the ground and pitch that alfalfa hay around on their horns.

The first of these ole wild cows came up out of the rim of the canyon and grazed around on the rim of the canyon and mooed a few times and these bulls romanced ’em into comin’ up to the corral where they smelled that alfalfa hay.

I was sittin’ way back around on the rim of the canyon to the south side where the wind was against me and the cows couldn’t hear nor smell me or my horse. There were five cows in sight; in about an hour’s time they worked their way into the corral. They would smell through the fence and rub noses with the bulls between bites of that alfalfa hay. I rode my horse in a slow walk around the rim of the canyon until I got even with the gate. Then I broke him into a dead run, swung the gate closed on five head of wild cows!