Chapter 7 Smoky The Cowhorse by Will James
SMOKY SHOWS HIS FEELINGS
Jeff Nicks, cow foreman of the Rocking R outfit, was riding along and headed for the horse camp where Clint was breaking horses. Spring works was over and Jeff thinking it was a good time for him to do a little lone riding and kinda visit the camps of the outfit, had left his straw boss in charge of the wagon, caught his best horse and strung out to cover some of the Rocking R territory.
It was a hot day, not a breath stirred the air; and as the old cowman rode he lifted his hat often to kinda let a fresh supply of atmosphere come in underneath. His big brown horse was covering ground in a running walk, and Jeff keeping him down to that gate wasn't passing a coulee nor a draw without a glance in it and then to the skyline above. It was his habit as a cowman to keep his eyes on the job while riding, and for the good of the company or his own, nary a thing had ever escaped his vision unless it was just too far for that vision to reach.
It was as he was riding along natural that way, that he noticed a thin streak of dust to the right of him quite a ways; that dust wasn't made by anything traveling fast, and even tho it reached up in the air good and high Jeff could see at a glance that the dust was stirred by something dragging.
He stopped his horse so as to get a steadier view, and pretty soon he could make out the shape of ahorse underneath that dust; something that looked like a turned pack was fastened or hanging on to him and dragging alongside.
Jeff had seen many happenings on the range between man and horse and from that figgered to always investigate anything that suspicioned of something gone wrong, and to investigate quick.-- He put his horse in a high lope. Down draws, over rolling hills, and acrost dog towns he went all at the same speed, and pretty soon he comes to where there's only a small ridge between him and what he wanted to investigate.
It was then that he figgered it best to take it slow till he'd seen just what was up; if some rider had got caught in his riggin' some way as a horse fell, and that horse was wild and unbroke, riding in on a high lope would only make things worse and cause the horse to stampede.--Nobody knowed that better than Jeff did.
He got off his horse, walked a ways, and peeking thru the tall grass seen the whole goings on at a glance. Fifty yards below him was a mouse colored horse,--looked like a half broke bronc to him on account of the way the hackamore was rigged,--but that horse didn't act like half broke. He was going thru a performance that most gentle broke range horses wouldn't put up with, and that was to half carry and half drag a man, and on the wrong side.
Jeff recognized that man as his "bronc peeler" Clint, and he was all for rushing down to see what had happened and help, but he held back,--he wasn't sure but what the mouse colored horse would scare and run away at the sight of him, and he couldn't tell but what Clint's hands was fastened to the saddle horn the way he was hanging on.
He could see there was still life in the rider, but if the man was conscious he wasn't showing very good sense by hanging on the wrong side of a half broke horse that way. Still, as he watched, Jeff begin to wonder. He noticed for one thing that the horse was headed straight for camp, Clint's camp, and then there was another thing he noticed and which made him wonder and watch more than ever--The mouse colored gelding wasn't dragging his man, he was more kinda helping him along, seemed like. Each step that horse took was with care and in favor of the man alongside; the pony watched every move that man made, and if the steps sorta lagged or hesitated he stopped or slowed down till the man braced up some and went again.
Jeff's mouth was wide open with wonder as he watched the goings on, and when a little while later the gelding happened along a big rock, and seen him stop while the man tried to use the rock to get from it up in the saddle, Jeff wondered some more.
"By japers, I've seen and handled thousands of horses," says Jeff, "but I never thought any horse ever had that much sense."
The old cowman watched for near a half an hour while Clint tried to get on his horse. He seen the horse stand there, all patience and a helping the best he could, and finally, with the help of the rock, the favoring of the horse, and the little strength the man had, and all put together, Clint was setting in the saddle at last. The hackamore reins was hanging loose; nothing was holding that pony from bucking, stampeding, or doing anything he pleased, but he stepped slow and easy, and ears cocked ahead, packed his man to camp with the same care any human would take.
Jeff got on his horse and keeping well behind followed. What he'd just seen had got him to the point where he begin a talking to himself, his horse, and the country around.
"Yessir, by japers, and he let Clint get on him from the wrong side too, why this daggone old gentle horse I'm riding now wouldn't let me do that--But then, maybe I better not to too sure about that, I'm beginning to believe from what I've just seen that there's things going on in horses' think tanks that's mighty surprising and which don't come out till the right time shows up."
A couple of hours and the camp was reached. Jeff looked around the big corrals as he rode closer for signs of Clint and the mouse colored bronc, and sure enough, there the both of 'em are,--Clint is still in the saddle and to all appearance unconscious; the gelding is standing by the corral gate, still, and waiting.
The cowman rode on towards 'em, but he soon had to stop, for he noticed as the gelding sees him how by that pony's action, he wasn't for standing in one spot no longer at the sight of a strange rider coming on him that way. Jeff had to maneuvre around considerable to keep that horse from hightailing it. The only way he could do it was to go back the way he came till out of sight, once there he circled around till he came up on the camp from the opposite side, the corrals and a long shed was between him and the half broke horse with his unconscious rider.
Jeff left his horse out of sight, and hugging close to the shed made his way to where the mouse colored gelding had been; a peek thru a hole in the wall showed him the horse was still there, and Clint still in the saddle. How to proceed from then on was a sort of ticklish proposition. Jeff didn't want the pony to get scared, run away and throw the hurt rider, and still, he couldn't let the rider stay where he was.
He had to take a chance and do the best he could. Around the corner of the shed he came, and slow and easy, showed himself to the wild eyed gelding; he talked to him, and that seemed to help some, for the little horse stood his ground. Stood his ground is correct, but Jeff had hesitated somehow from coming any closer,--he noticed a light in that pony's eyes which warned him plain to keep his distance, and even tho Jeff was half peeved and half leary at the stand the pony had took, he couldn't help but admire the show of liking that half broke gelding had for the rider that was still unconscious in the saddle, and laying with his head on the pony's bowed neck.
The horse's actions had all been a puzzle to Jeff at first, and as he finally understood, it all left him mighty surprised and in a trance with wonder. He'd expected that horse to start running away at the sight of him, but instead, he was showing fight. The pony wasn't wanting to go no further with the hurt rider, he wasn't going to trust no strange human with that helpless pardner of his.
Two months or more had passed since Clint and Smoky had met in the dust of the bare corral. In that time the man and horse'd had fights; some had been mighty wicked, and the wild horse would of killed the man too if the chance had come, but all thru them fights the man had won,--slow and easy, but he'd won. Then gradually Smoky begin to get confidence in the human, and then a liking; he'd got to looking for his company and would nicker with a glad feeling as he'd see that human come towards him of evenings, and he'd go the length of his picket rope to meet him.
Steady good treatment from the rider, no matter what the horse done, had won that pony's heart, till the little horse could near be seen smiling with the happy feeling that was his every time Clint came, saddled him, and rode him out for a little play with the rope and critter.
That's the way Smoky's feelings had come to be for the bow legged rider, and taking all as was, it's no wonder the horse showed fight when a strange human appeared. In his life Smoky had seen no other but Clint; he knowed him, but he didn't know the others, and he had no more love for them than he had when he was first run in from his free range. Them others was still enemies to him, and right then when that pony felt his pardner was depending on him most, he was sure ready to paw the daylight out of that stranger if he came any closer. He was his enemy, and according to his way of thinking, he was or should be Clint's enemy too.
Jeff stood there figgering for quite a spell a trying to digest and believe what that pony showed. It couldn't come to him to hurt or kill such a horse so as to get the man, and he'd just decided to get his rope, throw a loop over his head and snub him close to the corral, when the rider begin to show signs of life.
"Come to, Clint," hollered the cowman as he noticed the rider move, "and get off that horse."
Clint raised his head some at the sound of the voice, and as Jeff kept a speaking to him he made a big effort to understand and try to do as he was told. Pain showed in his face as he tried to straighten himself in the saddle, and as Jeff feared that the rider would lose consciousness again he hollered at him not to try to straighten up, but just slide off and hang on.
With a lot of pain and time and coaching from Jeff, Clint finally managed to raise one leg over the cantle of the saddle and let himself slide to the ground. Smoky stood still as a statue and as solid, his eyes was on Jeff with a steady warning for him to keep his distance--and Jeff did.
"Hang on to the saddle," coached Jeff, "try and get the horse thru the gate in the corral, and I'll close the gate on him."
That was done in time, and as the gate was closed Clint's hands went limp and he fell to the ground. Lucky it was that Jeff could reach him thru the corral bars, but he had to do considerable manoeuvreing even then to get the cowboy thru and under so as not to stir Smoky. And it was a mighty good thing for Jeff as he picked Clint up and started towards the house that there was bars high and strong between him and that pony, for as high and strong as that corral was Jeff worried some and, looking back over his shoulder as he went, wondered if it would hold him.
The sun had sunk away, and dark had come before Clint came to well enough so things was plain to him and he could talk. Jeff had made him as comfortable as was possible, boiled some "jerky" and made a strong broth which he was holding under Clint's nose for him to sniff at.
That cowboy sniffed, looked around, and then said, "where's Smoky?"
"If you mean that mouse colored fighting son of a gun of a horse you was on," says Jeff, "why he's in the corral, and a fretting his head that I'm going to eat you up."
Clint couldn't quite get the meaning of that just then, and he asked, "I wonder if you wouldn't go take the saddle off of him and put him on the picket rope where he'd get something to eat. He's gentle, and you can handle him easy."
Jeff snorted and laughed, "gentle,---? I wouldn't try to handle him if you'd give me this whole outfit, I'm not enough of a bronc fighter no more, and that ain't all. Thai pony is just a hankering for me to stick my beezer thru that corral."
Smoky circled around the corral not at all minding the saddle that was on him; he wasn't caring for any grass either, he was too peeved and restless. If Clint had been right side up and able, things would of been different and Smoky would of hardly even noticed the stranger.--There seems to be a heap of difference in the feelings of any thinking animal when a pardner is sick or dying,--the little horse knowed as well as any human that something had went wrong with his pardner, and the appearance of the stranger at such a time was worrying him.
The next day was well along and the sun getting high, when Jeff helped Clint on his feet and half carried him towards the corral where Smoky had put in the night. Clint staggered on alone from the gate and the little horse nickering came to meet him,--his ears was all ahead and with his eyes a shining; he looked all interest and like he wanted to ask questions. He then spotted Jeff, and at the sight of him, his expression changed, his eyes showed fire, and his ears layed back on his neck.
"Well, I'll be daggoned" says Clint as he noticed the horse's actions. He looked back at the old cowman and grinned, wondering, --but the old cowman wasn't grinning any. Jeff figgered it best for him to vanish for a spell. Smoky was unsaddled, and put on good feed and water, which all seemed to take Clint a powerful lot of time; but he finally showed up and Jeff helped him back to the house.
It was on the way over that Clint begin to speak, and on a subject that'd been on his mind for a long time. "You know, Jeff," he says, "I think the time has come for me to quit riding broncs, I feel like I better quit, specially after this last that's happened to me."
"What did happen anyway?" asks Jeff.
"It was all on account of a fool cow," starts Clint, "she'd showed signs of wanting to leave the country soon as she seen me riding up on her, and being she was good and fast, I figgered it'd be a good time to line Smoky out after her and let him turn 'er over a few times. I throwed my rope but the loop didn't land good, it just sorta sailed in front of her, and she stepped in it. About that time I jerked up my slack and I jerked it too hard. Down went the critter all in a heap and sudden, so sudden that with the speed Smoky was going he couldn't stop in time, and first thing we knowed we both was straddle the critter.
"But she didn't stay down long, she got up just at the wrong time and just right to yank Smoky's front feet from under him, raise him up in the air with me on top, and just turned us a couple of somersets before we landed on the other side.
"I didn't know much more after that, till now, I just sorta felt a weight on my back, and that was all. Maybe I got under Smoky somehow as we fell, but I think it's that fool cow that stepped on me and separated me from my thoughts.
"I'll most likely be all right in a few days, but I recognize this ailing. I got hurt a few years ago from an ornery black horse I was breaking for the Three C's, and being that I don't want this ailing to come back with me to stay, I figger I better quit riding rough ones. There's other parts of me that's hankering for me to quit too, and if you'll let me join the boys at the wagon, I'm mighty willing that somebody else gets my job here."
Clint was quiet for a spell, and then pretty soon he goes on, "But there's one favor I want to ask, Jeff, if you'll let me stay with the outfit, I want to ask that you let me keep Smoky in my string and as long as I'm with the company."
What the cowboy had just said come from what he'd figgered, thought out, and worried on, ever since he'd first set eyes on Smoky. Clint liked all horses, maybe a little too much, but even at that he liked Smoky still more. The fear that somebody else would lay claim to the horse'd had him doing some tall thinking. He knowed that as long as he was breaking horses his work would come with raw broncs only and all half broke horses would be took away from him as fast as he'd turn 'em out. Smoky would had to go too.
And that's where the hitch came. He figgered he'd have to quit breaking horses and go to riding the range, and take the big chance that the horse might be took away from him even then. He'd noticed how Jeff had stood, watched, and admired Smoky; and if signs of a human wanting anything right bad ever showed, there was never no signs more visible than Clint had seen on Jeff's features when the horse was in sight.
There'd been only one way out for the cowboy, and he'd took it.--There was a worried look on his face as he glanced at the foreman and waited for him to answer, but Jeff didn't seem to want to answer right then, and instead he asked:
"How long have you had that horse up, Clint?"
"Two months and maybe a little over," says Clint, wondering some at the question.
"Wasn't there a couple of boys here about a month ago to get all the broncs you'd started?"
"Yes."
"Well then, why didn't you let 'em have that horse Smoky? He was as well broke then as any of the broncs the boys came after, wasn't he?"
Clint begin to take interest in looking at the wall of the bunk house about that time. He grinned a little, and finally he answered:
"Well, Jeff, I guess you know why."
Jeff did know why, and knowed it a plenty. What he'd seen going on between Smoky and the cowboy the day before and that morning had already answered why Clint had hid the horse when the boys came to haze away the broncs he'd "started." The foreman grinned back at the layed up rider and placed a hand on his shoulder, the same as to say that he understood.
"As long as I'm with this outfit," he says, "and which from all indications will be a long time, you're mighty welcome to join the wagon as one of my riders. You'll be getting 'top-hand' wages too, Clint, the best string of ponies I can put together; and as for Smoky, why--I sure would like that horse."
Clint's heart fluttered up his throat and came near choking him-- "Yep! I'd sure like to have him" went on the foreman "but after thinking it all over, I figger that horse really belongs to you more than he does to the company or me. He's a one man horse and you're the one man, Clint, and even if the horse took a liking to me, which I know wont happen, I'll sure never want to take him away from you--not after what I've seen."
Clint had underfiggered considerable when he'd said how he thought he'd be all right again in a few days. A week passed and very little strength had gathered from his hips up. His back felt as broke, and he had no power to straighten up again once he'd stoop. He couldn't even pick up a spur.
A new rider came one day and took up Clint's work where he'd left it. From that time on Clint hung around the corrals a talking and watching the new "hand" ride, and when he wasn't by the corrals, he could be seen in the shade of the big willows in the creek bottom where Smoky was picketed.
Clint had looked at Smoky in a new way since Jeff had come and left. The visit of the old cowboy had brought out things in that little horse which Clint hadn't dreamed of ever being in any horse. He'd been mighty surprised, and then sort of proud that he could raise such a feeling in the gelding. The horse was good as his too,--that put the cap on his worries of losing him, and all was well.
A month went by, the round-up wagons was stringing out for the fall works, and the cow with the big "weaner" calf was hunting a hole. There was twenty-two riders with Jeff Nick's wagon, and amongst 'em a grinning from ear to ear at some joke a cowboy had sprung was Clint, and riding Smoky.
Long days of rest had put that cowboy in shape to ride, but not to ride broncs, and when he at last felt that he could make a hand at riding "circle," "herd," and "night guard" Smoky had been saddled and rode to the home ranch, where the wagon was to start from.
Smoky'd had a long month's rest before Clint saddled and rode him out that morning, and even tho the rider looked O.K. again to the little horse, there was a feel from the hackamore rein that as much as asked him not to buck. He'd bucked that day when Clint had met too much cow, and far as that goes, he'd bucked some at every saddling, but as the cowboy started him out for open country and the home ranch that morning he was made to feel that he should keep his head up for once and line out without a kink.
The home ranch had been reached a couple of days later, and there's where Smoky'd got his first look at a busy cow outfit's main camp. Cowboys was everywhere, and more of 'em than he could keep track of; big corrals full of horses, and more horses under the big sheds. Wagons and tents, and when the round-up cook rushed out of a log house to one side and pranced up to try and shake hands with Clint, Smoky let out a snort and shied out of reach.
"Daggone it, Clint," says that hombre, "I was told you'd quit riding broncs--what in samhill do you call that spooky thing you're setting on now?"
"Some horse," answers Clint, grinning.
Smoky felt some easier when he was finally unsaddled and turned in amongst the other saddle horses. He took a good roll, shook himself, and proceeded to get acquainted. It didn't worry him none that very few of the ponies seemed to want his company and he was mighty busy going from one of the big corrals into another and giving 'em all the once over. He finally run acrost a bay gelding which seemed some familiar, and Smoky must of seemed the same to that gelding too for both of 'em started to show interest at once and came to meet one another.
Necks bowed, they touched nostrils, some explaining and understanding must of went on, cause it wasn't but a few minutes later when each was scratching the other's neck like two brothers--and that's what they was, brothers. The bay horse was none other than the little colt, growed up, and which his mammy had brought in the bunch one day over three years before.
Signs showed where the saddle had been on his back too. A cowboy had run him in a couple of weeks before and passed the remark as he piled his rope on him that, "This little bay horse sure showed the makings of a cowhorse."
Jeff had agreed, and that's how come Smoky found him in amongst the saddle horses that day. He'd showed some of how he'd took a natural liking for the bay, and if one didn't recognize a brother in the other the way they went at scratching each other's withers couldn't of meant much.
It was thru an intermission at wither scratching that Smoky seen Clint open the outside gate of the corral and walk in. Alongside of him was Jeff Nicks who'd come along to point out Clint's string of ponies. Smoky watched them two for quite a spell; he watched Jeff the most, but pretty soon went to scratching his brother's withers again. Clint was all right now and well able to take care of himself, he must of thought--Anyway there wasn't the feeling in him that Clint needed any protection.
Clint had come to see him that evening, and he'd noticed as his pardner came that some of the cowboys was watching him from the next corral. He looked over Clint's shoulder at 'em and sent out a long whistling snort.
"I'm glad Clint didn't break all the broncs like he did that one" remarked one of the boys as he seen the fight in that pony's eyes.
"Yep!" says another, "he sure made a one man horse out of him."
Smoky was turned out in the big pasture that night with the other horses. Him and his brother paired off soon as they was out of the corrals and fed together till daybreak brought a rider on the sky line who corraled 'em all for the new day's work.
That day's work started early. Sun up found all the boys on their horses, the chuck wagon, bed wagon and wood wagon teams was all hooked on and ready to start at a wave of the hand from Jeff. Jeff waved, and away all went thru the big gates leading out of the home ranch, three wagons strung out, a "remuda" (saddle bunch) of two hundred saddle horses followed, and on the "swing" (sides) of the whole outfit twenty-two riders, riding good and bad horses, loped along--The fall round up had started.