Chapter 4 Smoky The Cowhorse by Will James
THE END OF A ROPE
Snow layed heavy on the range that winter, grass was hard to get at, and the little bunch of ponies that tracked the low hills which raised up on the prairies was finding themselves doing a lot of rustling and pawing, and getting very little feed. Bunches of cattle followed 'em wherever they went and rooted with their nose for the few blades of dry grass them horses had pawed the snow off of and left.
Hay couldn t be bought that winter and the stockmen found themselves where they had to take a chance and pull their cattle thru with whatever little hay the dry summer before could let 'em have. Cattle had been in fine shape that fall, but as the snow kept a piling and a drifting and covering up the feed the tallow kept a dwindling away from under the critters' hides and lean ribs begin to show more and more thru the long winter hair.
Then came a time as the blizzards blowed and regardless of what all the stockmen done (which was to the limit of what any human can do) when mounds of white begin to show here and there in that part of the range. Underneath them white mounds was the dead carcass of a critter. Some was dug up by the varmints, cayotes was licking their chops; and to make things worse, there appeared three big grey wolves on the skyline one day.
Smoky and the big buckskin horse was the first to see the wolves. Their ears was towards 'em as the three outlaws of the range trotted along and then stopped to look at the horses.
Smoky had never seen a wolf before, but the big old buckskin had seen too many of 'em and had scars to show for his meetings with the kind. He let a loud snort at the sight of the three grey shapes and from that Smoky got a hunch that these was more to be reckoned with than the cayotes he d chased when he was a yearling. He had a hankering to go and give them a chase too, but the nervous way the buckskin was acting kinda warned him that it d be best for him to stick with the bunch.
The weak and dying cattle is what had really drawed the wolves, of course they would just as soon tackle a strong animal as a weak one but the scent that scattered over the range from the dead stock and which would reach no less sensitive a nose than theirs was a lot to their liking, and they d just drifted in to investigate.
It was below them to touch any of the carcasses they d passed, for these was old wolves well up to the game of killing, and nothing but fresh meat would do. A good fat yearling or two year old colt is what came highest and most to their tastes, and when they skirted that ridge and spotted that little bunch of ponies in the draw below, it was the sight of them that reminded their appetities how long ago it was since they d et last, and they d traveled a long ways.
But it was still daylight, and according to their natural way of doing things they d wait till night come before making the kill. They skirted on and out of sight of the horses, nosed the snow and the air to make sure that the coast was clear, and after another look at the country so they d know it when they returned, the wolves trotted on. They showed what old timers they was as they circled well away from a carcass for fear of a trap. They d had their toes pinched in the steel jaws, scars showed where bullets had grazed 'em, and one was still packing a piece of lead which a cowboy had fired at him from a long shot with a 30-30.
The big buckskin back there in the draw knowed their way, and it showed in his action. He d quit pawing for grass and instead put all his attention to the tops of the ridges that was all around him and the bunch. The way them three wolves had sized up the bunch and then disappeared had made him restless and mighty spooky; and finally that draw got to be too much of a hole for him, too good a place for an enemy to come into without being seen till that enemy was too close.
The older mares showed a lot of spookiness too, which all got Smoky riled up so that he begin acting the same; and when the buckskin took the lead out of the draw to where a good look of the country around could be got, the whole bunch was mighty anxious to follow; even the little colts seemed to have the hunch that something was up; the white of their eyes showed and they stuck mighty close to their mammies' side.
A big moon came up and the light of it reflected a path that shined on the crusted snow. The air was mighty still, still with the cold that'd gripped the range and made everything that lived and carried hoofs come to a stand, so that no air would be stirred; a breeze at that temperature would of froze stiff every standing animal in that territory.
Smoky, the buckskin, and the bunch stood on a knoll where they could see well around 'em. They looked like petrified or froze there so still they all stood; there was no sign of life from 'em excepting for an ear that moved once in a while and which was on the job to catch any sound that might come from near or far.
The "yip, yip," and howl of a cayote was heard, another answered, and pretty soon them two filled the air with their serenading--. The echo of that hadn't quite died down when the long, drawed out, and mournful howl of a wolf made that of the cayotes seem like a joke. The little bunch of horses on the knoll hadn't blinked an eye while the cayotes was serenading, but at the sound of what followed, every head in the bunch went up, every ear pointed towards the sound, and the buckskin with a few others snorted.
Restlessness had got in the bunch. Smoky started out a ways and came back; then pretty soon, and keeping as close together as they could, they all begin moving. They moved on like shadows, and like more shadows three grey shapes had took up their trail.
The big buckskin had stayed in the rear of the bunch and he was first to notice the wolves. A loud whistling snort was heard from him as he landed in the middle of the bunch and kettled 'em into a stampede and the run for their lives. The cold air was split forty ways and crusted hunks of snow was sent a flying as the ponies all wild eyed broke their way thru the drifts at the edge of a ridge and run on towards the big flat.
Smoky had stampeded with the rest and kept pretty well up in the lead thru the run, but now that his blood was warming up in plowing thru the deep snow, and being that that blood was circulating more free up his neck and into his brain, it all put somewhat of a different light on the subject. That brain of his was all het up, on hair trigger with the waking up the run was giving it, and pretty soon something hatched up in there that made Smoky slow down till the bunch went past and ahead of him.-- He was wanting to see what was all fired dangerous about them wolves so as to make the bunch run that way.
The big buckskin was the last to pass Smoky. He was busy keeping two little colts just a few months old from lagging behind too far, bucking the deep snow at the speed the bunch was making was beginning to show on 'em and it was taking a lot of persuading from the big horse to keep them little fellers on the move.
The wolves was steady catching up with the bunch and the attack would of took place some sooner if it hadn't been for Smoky. His lagging behind had fooled the wolves into thinking that the mouse colored gelding had quit and was ready to make his last stand. It had been Smoky's intention to wait for the killers and paw the daylight out of 'em, but as the three rushed in on him he figgered it a good idea to postpone the pawing for a while and do a little running till he was some acquainted with their ways and tricks.
Head and tail up and fire in his eyes he lined out and led the wolves away from the bunch. They'd figgered on making him their victim on account he was the handiest, but as the chase kept up they found the gelding had a powerful lot of speed left in him. In the meantime Smoky had somehow lost all hankering of stopping and fight it out with 'em. There was something about the three hungry looking crethures that kept him a moving, and his instinct was warning him strong that he should keep some safe distance between him and them.
He was doing that the best he could and as the running kept up and the wolves couldn't get any closer they finally figgered they was wasting their time. May be he got to looking too old and tough for 'em and caculated they'd rather have younger and more tender meat; besides he was leading 'em straight away from the bunch which might make 'em lose their chances of getting anything at all.
Smoky's play of leading the wolves off that way had been a great relief to the bunch and mostly the young colts; they'd had a chance to slow down some and get their second wind, and when the killers showed up on their trail once again they was all more able to sashay on and keep from reach of their tearing fangs.
When Smoky found that the wolves had left him and turned back towards the bunch, it was his natural instinct to turn too and follow up in their tracks. He had a hunch somehow that he'd be needed there and he hadn't altogether lost the hope of a chance of taking apart at least one of the outlaws.
It was a long and mighty hard run back till he caught up with the bunch again, but Smoky wasn't the horse he was for nothing. He made it in near as good a time as the wolves themselves, and he got there just as the wolves circled around past the buckskin and headed for one of the colts he'd been hazing.
The buckskin hadn't hardly been noticed; the wolves had passed him up as too old, specially when there was such as the young colts which could be got easy. The old horse had watched 'em catch up with the bunch and go past him for a younger victim. He had no way to know that they didn't want him, and he could of kept well in the lead of the bunch if he'd wanted to, but he'd made hisself guardian over the little colts and he couldn't for the life of him have left 'em behind. Of course the little fellers' mammies would of fought for 'em too but they was at the stage where they felt every horse was for himself; they'd scared into a stampede and was all a running for their own lives.
The old buckskin knowed wolves; he knowed they had their eye on him and it was best to keep neutral till they'd got over being watched of every move he'd make; and as the three greys passed him and was gaining on the scared little colts he kept to one side and watched. It was just as the leader made a leap for one of the little fellers' ham strings that the big buckskin came to life, made a leap too, and went to fighting at the risk of his own life.
The wolves hadn't looked for no such move from him. They'd got over watching and figgered he was far behind and had put all their attention on dragging down the victim they'd picked. It was a mighty big surprise for them when from behind the big buckskin landed on the second wolf and buried him in the snow while on his way to the first. A good sized hoof came down just as that first wolf turned his head to meet the fighting buckskin. That hoof connected with his lower jaw as he made the turn and left that jaw hanging limp and plum useless.--When the old pony looked back for the other wolves there was long grey hairs sticking between his teeth.
It was about then when Smoky arrived on the scene. He'd come up right behind the buckskin and when the second wolf picked himself up out of the snow and made a grab which would of been the death of the old horse, Smoky done a side swipe that was quicker than chained lightning. A hind hoof came up and caught that wolf right under a front leg close to the body and took that leg off of him like it'd been a tooth pick;--another horse that'd come up from behind and hadn't been reckoned with.
It was during this commotion of biting and kicking mixture of buckskin and mouse colored horseflesh and flying grey wolves that the third and only able wolf disappeared into thin air. Them two fighting ponies had took away all his appetite for colt meat and left a hankering only to be gone from the reach of their destroying hoofs. Three of his kind could of competed with the mad ponies if their attention had been on them from the start, but that's where the slip had been made, and as it was that lone wolf didn't feel at all equal of resuming what the leader of the pack had started.--He left.
The moon faded away into the sky; break of day had come. Out on the flat the little bunch of ponies was knee deep in the snow and a pawing away for the grass that was underneath, there wasn't a scratch on nary a hide to show that any had ever seen a wolf; but if Smoky and his pardner the buckskin hadn't been in that little bunch there would of been another story to tell. The little colt which was so busy digging up feed for himself, and plum ignorant of the close call he'd had, would of been amongst the missing and just easing the appetites of three gray wolves; and who knows but what a couple more colts might of been killed along with him, for once a wolf gets a taste of warm blood there's no telling how far he'll go.
The "yip, yip" and howl of a cayote sounded off from the hills, and gradual as the sun came up big clouds showed over the skyline from the northwest and seemed like headed to meet and kill that sun's warm rays. By noon that day a blizzard had come and the little bunch of ponies faced it on the way back to the shelter of the bills from where they'd left in their run for life.
The howl of a lone wolf was heard that night, and away off to the south there came an answer, an answer that was more drawed out and mournful than any that'd ever been heard. Smoky snorted, but with the buckskin, only his head went up, his ears pointed towards the sound. He knowed wolves and he knowed they wouldn't be back, not that night.
The blizzard hung on for a day and filled the ravines with deep drifts; then the wind died and it settled down to a slow falling snow. There was more white mounds where that snow had covered the carcasses of dead critters, but amongst them mounds there was one that wasn't made by any of the beliering grass eating kind.--A big gray wolf layed there, a broke jaw had been the cause of his death.
(Some months later a cowboy run down and roped a three legged wolf and remarked as he looked close to where a front leg was missing, how "it must of been an awful wicked bullet to've took that leg off so neat.")
The already long winter dragged and hung on like it never was going to quit, snow was deep, and even tho the sun climbed higher and stayed longer there seemed to be no more heat from it than there'd been two months before and when it was at its lowest. The ponies was having a hard time and as the feed kept a getting to be harder to reach right along they was steady losing on weight and strength. The roundness that'd been theirs a few months before was all gone and instead they showed lean and slab sided.
Finally, and after it seemed there'd be no end to the rough weather, there came a break; it turned warmer, and some time later the snow begin to sag and then melt on the sunny side of the hills, gradually, and after what seemed weeks instead of days the grass showed in plain sight more and more till the time come when the ponies didn't have to paw for their feed no more. Then after a while there was green stems showing thru the dry grass.-- The dangers of the winter was over.
The range had turned from white to brown and then green and the little bunch of ponies begin to perk up considerable. The winter hair was a slipping, their eyes showed more bright, and pretty soon ribs begin to disappear under layers of fat and glossy hides. Then to make this new green world as great and wonderful as the winter before had been hard and cruel, there begin to appear brand new little colts in the bunch, all slick little fellers and full of play. And as the bunch drifted to the open prairie they came acrost little calves, their little white faces a shining in the sun.
Smoky had more than kept with all the changes to the good; he showed it in every move he made, and as him and the old buckskin (which had got young again) played around and showed jealous over the new colts, it made a sight that was complete in all that life could give.
There was months of peace that way; the little bunch roamed the prairies not at all seeming to care where sunup found 'em. Tall green feed was a plenty and everywheres, clear swift mountain streams slowed down on the flats and furnished moisture for the big cottonwood that reached out in the sky and made cool shade, and as it was, time was just let slip by and enjoyed only as a free range horse with little colts for company can enjoy it.
It was more thru habit than heat that the little bunch drifted on up the foothills one day and then higher in the mountain. May be they liked the breeze up there better, or the change of feed, or maybe it was that too many riders had been showing up off and on and which kinda disturbed 'em.
But them riders couldn't be dodged that easy, and one day for a whole half hour there was one within a half a mile of 'em a setting on his horse, field glasses in his hands and looking at the little bunch as they fanned themselves on a high ridge plum ignorant of the eyes that was on 'em.
That rider had spotted the mouse-colored blaze-faced gelding, and at the sight of him let out a whistle of surprise of seeing such a horse. He'd rode a little closer then and watched that horse some more. He'd of come still closer only he didn't want to kettle the bunch and make 'em suspicious, besides he'd just wanted to locate where that horse was running so he'd know where to find him when he wanted to. He was one of the Rocking R men.
Smoky had stood the whole watchful spell without a hunch of it; and as him and the little bunch started a grazing on up the mountain there was nothing further away from his mind than the thought of a human on his trail. Of course there wasn't any human on his trail that day, but there would be soon, for the way that rider talked that night, and described Smoky to the broncho buster of the outfit, all indicated that it wouldn't be long when the little horse would be finding himself in a high pole corral.
Smoky was now a four year old going on five, the age when most all range geldings are run in and broke to either saddle or harness, for use on the range or to fit 'em for market. The little horse'd had a good long time of freedom and if he was kept with the outfit he'd get more, but his time for usefulness had come. The free roaming of the hills and flats was past for a while till the work he'd be cut out for was done, and Smoky's experience from his colt days on till now would go on with more learning and experiences with the human.
Smoky's waking up to realizing them things came sudden and all mighty unexpected. A long legged rider on a long legged horse had showed up on a ridge above him and the bunch; there'd been a lot of territory covered in mighty fast time as all lit into a run and they was hazed down onto the flats and then into long pole wings towards the corral; then first thing Smoky knowed he was penned in, he couldn't go no further. A big gate was closed and all around him was big cottonwood bars.
In another pen joining the one Smoky was in there was other horses, all geldings and along about Smoky's size and age. The gate between was opened and Smoky was cut out of his bunch by that same long legged rider that'd run him in, and put thru that gate to join them other geldings. The gate was closed again after him.
Smoky peeked thru the bars and watched the rider open the outside gate and leave out the bunch he'd run with. He watched one of the mares take the lead and in a long lope, head back to the high territory from where they'd come, he watched the little colts running to keep up and then he seen the big buckskin tagging along. His pardner and all was leaving him amongst strange horses, in a high corral, and not far away was a human which to Smoky was ten times worse than any wolf.
He nickered, and there was a sound to it that made the buckskin stop, look back, and nicker an answer. The old horse stood there a while kinda like he was waiting, but pretty soon he started again and caught up with the bunch. The old buckskin knowed humans, he'd packed many a one of 'em on many a long ride; his freedom had been handed back to him for the good work he'd done. He'd experienced what Smoky was going thru now and knowing what he did it was all plain to him just what was up. There was no use of him waiting.
Smoky watched him and the bunch disappear in a cloud of dust and out of sight. If only there was no bars holding him it wouldn't take him long and he could still catch up with 'em, but--He was brought back to hard facts by the squeak of the heavy gate as it was pulled open, and the cowboy walked in with a long coil of rope on his arm.
Smoky let out a snort at the sight of the human and tore up the earth for the far side of the corral. Natural fear of the crethure had a hold on him and once against the solid bars he turned and quivering faced what he felt was his worst enemy.
If Smoky could only of knowed, there'd been a lot of suffering which he wouldn't had to've went thru on account of that fear; if he'd only knowed that right then that human was just admiring him for all he was worth and that doing the little horse any harm was the furthest thing away from his mind. But the wild gelding had no way of knowing, and every word that human was saying sounded to him like the growl of a flesh tearing animal, and every move was a step closer to the victim;--he was the victim.
The cowboy well understood his kind. He'd been raised on the backs of such as him and he was making his living by gentling that kind and making good saddle horses out of 'em; and as he stood there, his eyes taking in every move the mouse colored gelding was making, there was a smile showed under the stetson. That smile was just for the glad way he felt as he sized him up and seen where he was all saddle horse, not the kind that'd fit in harness and to be shipped to farming countries. He was glad to know that he'd be the first to touch that pony's hide, and as he kept his eye on the gelding, at the same time shaking out a loop, he felt there'd be no end of patience for such a horse as that one looked to be.
His ioop ready he walked towards the gelding. Smoky watched him come and that pony's actions showed where he just wanted to shrink away to nothing and disappear; but he stayed full size, and seen where his next best move was to just move, and away to most any old place. The other geldings scattered as the human came on, and Smoky piled in amongst 'em full speed to the other side of the corral; about that time he heard the hiss of a rope and that thing which he likened to a snake coiled up and right around both his front feet.
Them front feet was jerked away from under him as he sailed in the air and tried to get away, and then he made a circle in the atmosphere and came down to earth flat on his side. He no more than hit the ground when he tried to get up. He tried it again and again, and as the cowboy talked to him and advised him to ease up on the fighting, Smoky turned a wild eyed look his way and snorted.
"Now lay down and be good" says that cowboy. "I sure don't want to skin up that pretty hide of yours."
Smoky did lay down; he had to, for in another few seconds his four feet was tied together. He breathed hard as he layed there plum helpless. His mind wasn't working no more, his heart was a thumping fit to bust, and the racing of the blood thru his body only stampeded his brain. He was past trying to figger out how he was throwed so easy and then held down where he could move only his head. No cougar or bear could of made him so helpless; he could of fought with them; but with this human it all seemed like he had no chance, and the mystery of that human's power is what put the fear in him, a fear the likes of which was a heap worse than he'd felt if he'd been cornered by a thousand bears, cougars, and wolves.
In a dazed way he seen the cowboy bend over him; a knee touched his neck and the muscles along there quivered the same as if a snake's fangs had been feeling for a holt. A hand touched his ear and another his forehead; there was no pain but if there had been the little horse would of never felt it.
Pretty soon a hackamore was slipped on his head, he felt the rawhide "bosal" around his nose, and then the "feador" rope around his neck, all the while the crethure was making a low, and somehow not aggravating noise. It was a talking to him.
The cowboy gave his forehead a couple of rubs, then stood up and walked around to the pony's feet. Smoky felt the tight ropes loosening up from around his ankles and pulled away; his feet was free but his mind was confused a lot and he still layed there; then he felt a pull on the hackamore rope.
"Come on up and stand on your legs" says that cowboy,--and Smoky came to life.
He came to life a pawing and rearing and a snorting. His feet was free and he could handle 'em again; he did handle 'em and put in all the strength and action he had a trying to pull away from the cowboy which was holding him with a long rope. There's some talk of the skill that's showed between the angler and the trout, but the skill that was brought out from that hundred and fifty pound cowboy a holding that eleven hundred pounds of kinky, wild horseflesh was past talking about, and beyond the figgering out of any human that's not up to the trade of bronco busting.
The cowboy played his rope and held his horse; he'd held many like him before and most all had fought the same as Smoky was now fighting. That pony's eyes was afire as he seen there was no chance for any get away even when he was on his feet. He couldn't at all shake that two legged hunk of terror, and as he snorted and fought the rope that still held fast around his head and neck, he begin to tire some; and came a time when as the cowboy stood still a few yards away he stood still too, and legs wide apart, sweat a dripping from his slick hide, he took in a breathing spell.
He stood there as he watched the cowboy back away and let the rope slide thru his hands; he watched him open the gate and get the saddle horse that'd been left to stand on the other side, seen him get on that horse and then pick up the slack of the rope that was holding him. There was thirty feet of it between him and the mounted human, and when that rope was tossed a little as the rider circled around him, Smoky made a leap and shaking his head like trying to slip what held him, he headed straight on for the open gate.
But once past it Smoky was jerked to a fighting standstill, he hadn't as yet reckoned that a rope could hold him--. The gate was closed after him and the rider had went thru and then Smoky felt some slack. He took advantage of that and started out full speed again; he was out of the corral and in the open, the rope that was still on him was only felt and wasn't holding him from lining out.
A shallow creek bottom full of tall green feed was by that corral and Smoky headed down it; any place would do so long as he could run and keep a distance between him and that rider; but that run wasn't to last long, once again he felt the rope tighten till he was brought to a stop, and facing the rider once more, watched him get off his horse and fasten the end of the long rope to a log.
"Well, little horse" says the cowboy as he stood there and watched him for a spell, "don't play too rough with this rope, the better you treat it the better it'll treat you," and with that he got on his horse and rode off towards the corrals where more broncs waited for the same eddication that Smoky had just got.
That long soft and thick cotton rope, and that log which held Smoky, was the means of his first learnings as to ways for usefulness to the human. The more he'd fight that rope and try to get away from it the more he'd learn that his fighting and tearing was of no use. That rope was on the job steady and to learn him to turn as he run and hit the end of it, it would take the stiffness out of his neck and there'd come a time when he'd give to a pull from either side without fighting and wanting to be convinced that it could be done. The log which the rope was tied to was part of the teaching apparatus, heavy enough to hold the pony, and even tho it could be dragged around some Smoky couldn't get very far with it.
The little horse realized somehow as he sized up the contraption that the end had come to all he'd enjoyed with the freedom he'd had, cool shades,--clear streams, and grassy ranges to all roam on as he pleased had been took away from him; he didn't know what was to come next, but he did know that he was on that creek bottom, close to corrals, and there to stay for a spell.