Chapter 8 Smoky The Cowhorse by Will James
SMOKY STARTS OUT
The first day of the fall round-up was to Smoky awhole lot like the first day of school to the kid of the settlement, only, Smoky was full grown and his brain full developed. His eyes stayed wide open and worked with his ears so that nothing of interest would be missed.
There was so much that was strange and which kept his senses on the jump. The big wagons with the four and six horse teams done a lot of spooky rattling as they followed the pilot, sometimes on a high lope, across the rolling prairie, over benches and down draws. Then trailing along close behind the thumping of hoofs of many ponies, the remuda, made a sound which hinted everything to Smoky, everything from a stampede on up, and if it hadn't been for the hand that once in a while was felt on his neck, and the voice which he heard and knowed so well, the little horse would of sure left a streak of dust and away from all that confusion of wagons and men.
There was too many riders around him. They all kept too close, and once in a while as the outfit sashayed on towards the first camp grounds and some bronc would bust out a bucking and a trying to shed off a cowboy, Smoky felt a lot like doing the same. But always, and whenever he felt like "kettling" the most, Clint's hand and voice was there to quiet him down. That hand and voice worked the same as to prove to Smoky, that as long as Clint was around close there was nothing for him to fear.
As the outfit rambled on, Clint gradually reined Smoky to one side till he was well away and where he would feel more at ease to watch without fear all what the layout had to show that was strange. Smoky's ears then perked up at a different angle, and as Clint talked to him that spooky looking outfit lining out acrost the range got to look less spooky and more interesting.
Smoky followed the outfit and watched it till the sun was well up in the middle of the sky, then the pilot raised his hand, made a circle and the wagons followed him to a standstill. A dry camp was made and the cook had the pots to working a few minutes after the outfit had come to a stop. The rope corrals was strung out in the wink of an eye and the remuda run in.
Smoky had watched the whole proceedings with a lot of interest, the many horses, men, and all had him to using his eyes and ears to the limit, and the low snorts he'd let out every once in a while as he turned to watch all that went on, was as plain as talk, that for excitement this sure had everything he'd ever seen before beat to a frazzle.
"Come and get it, you Rannies!" It was the cook's holler for the riders to come and eat. About then Smoky seen Clint headed towards him and where he'd been left picketed. A little rub back of the ear and Smoky was led to the rope corral, unsaddled, and turned in with the remuda.
"Have a good roll, Smoky horse," says Clint as he turned him loose, "and don't let no ornery pony get the best of you."
Smoky looked back at Clint for a spell the same as to ask him where he was going, and as the cowboy stood there watching the little horse moseyed on and disappeared amongst the saddle bunch.
The "round-up pan" was filling up with the tin cups and plates as the cowboys, thru eating, was making their way towards their saddles by the rope corrals. A hard twist catch rope was unbuckled from them saddles, loops was shook out, and pretty soon them same loops begin a sailing and a reaching out like a mighty long arm for the horse each cowboy picked out for that afternoon's ride.
Smoky seen and heard the hiss of them loops as they sailed on over past him to settle around some other pony's neck, and even tho all was done quiet so none of the horses would start running too much, Smoky had a mighty restless feeling whenever them snaky ropes appeared. Clint hadn't roped him only once and that was when he was a raw bronc, but he hadn't forgot the feeling that'd been his when that same rope had caught him, stretched him out, and left him plumb helpless.
His brain was near stampeding with him at the sound of so many ropes, and once in a while when he'd spot some strange rider carrying one of them hated coils the sight made him hit for the middle of the herd,--but even there he wasn't safe, for there was no telling how far them ropes could reach.
It was in winding around and thru the thick of the herd, that Smoky found himself on the edge and crowded against the big rope cable which was the corral. The sight that met his eye there had him wanting to hide back in the middle of the herd once again, but he had no chance, the herd had him wedged where he couldn't move and as it was he had to stare wild eyed at all that was there for him to see.
A few feet away was half a dozen riders saddling up, and that's what kettled Smoky,--the few feet that was between him and them strangers was too close for comfort. He was just about to try another grand rush to get back into the middle of the herd when the sound of something familiar made him hesitate. It was the ring of a spur rowel, a ring he'd heard often, and pretty soon Smoky spots Clint only a few feet away from him and leading a strange horse to his saddle.
Smoky stuck his head and neck out far as he could and nickered at the sight of the cowboy, and that cowboy having his attention some other direction at the time was made to turn mighty quick as the well known nicker was heard.--There was all in Smoky's looks and nicker that seemed to say "Pardncr, I need help."
Clint laughed, but the laugh wasn't of the kind that comes from a joke.
"What's the matter, little horse?"
But Clint knowed what was the matter, he could hear the thump thump of Smoky's heart as he came nearer, and feel the throb of it as he layed a hand on his neck. He rubbed on the slick hide a spell, and that cowboy experienced a mighty great feeling when he noticed as he stayed, that gradually the pony's heart beats begin to slow down and soon was behaving normal again.
Smoky watched the cowboy leave him to go to where his saddle was laying on the ground out a ways. He watched him put the saddle on the strange horse, and when Clint came back leading the horse and finished saddling by Smoky, that pony nipped at the cowboy's chap' leg the same as to say "Stick around a spell."
Clint did stick around for a spell. He wasted a lot of good company time fooling with the latigos and seeing that his rope was coiled up neat, and even tho he knowed that as a good cowboy he should been helping tearing down camp, he stuck by the corral and Smoky till the last rider had caught, saddled, and rode his horse away. The remuda was let out then, the wrangler circled the bunch and started grazing 'em till the wagons started again for that night's grounds.
Smoky was hazed along and lost in the big horse herd, Clint watched him and when he couldn't see him no more started coiling up the big cable, which was the rope corral used on open range, and with the help of another rider put it in one of the wagons where it'd be easy reached again.
It'd been less than an hour since the cook had stopped his team and jumped off the wagon to cook the cowboys' noon bait, and now he was up on the wagon again and waiting there for the boys to finish hooking up his team and hand him the "ribbons." Soon enough that was done, the pilot started and the cook warwhooped his broncs into a running start, the bed wagon, loaded down with twenty some odd "Montana Rolls," took up the swing, and the wood wagon tagged along behind. Then came the remuda of over two hundred saddle horses and hazing 'em was the "Wrangatang" (day wrangler).
The first "circle" of the fall round-up was on that afternoon. The circle starts from wherever the round-up wagon might be. The round-up wagon of most countries is composed of three wagons, one for "chuck" and pots and the cook, another for the riders' bedding which is rolled in big canvas tarpaulins. It takes quite some bedding for twenty or more men, specially in countries where it's apt to snow in the middle of June. The third wagon is for wood and water and which is used in prairie countries where there's neither wood or water to be found for a ways.
The cook drives his chuck wagon, the "flunky" (cook's helper) drives the bed wagon, and the "nighthawk" (rider who herds the remuda at night) drives the wood wagon. Them three wagons which is called "The Wagon" is the cowboys' home while on the range. It carries his grub, his "war bag" (bag of clothes), his bedding, and strips of rawhide which he salts down and sometimes cuts into strings and braids things like "bosals" (nose bands) or such.
"The Wagon" moves camp most every day, and sometimes twice and three times a day; all depends on how quick the country is "worked." The "circle" starts from "The Wagon." The twenty or more riders and the cow foreman ride straight to some point for ten or fifteen miles. On top of some butte the bunch stops, then the cow foreman "scatters the riders." He'll send 'em in pairs to the right, left, and straight ahead and spread 'em fan shape to a certain point where they turn, or where there's no more cattle to be seen, and they'll head back towards the wagon again, bringing with 'em all the cattle that's seen in the ride.
That's what's called a "circle." It averages twenty-five miles and ends at the wagon where all the riders meet again each bringing with 'em whatever cattle was found. The wagon might of moved and a new camp set up while the boys was out on "circle," but wherever the wagon is that's where the "circle" ends. To one side of the camp a mile or so is the "cutting grounds" where the herd is "worked," the spot where all the cattle is brought to from that one "circle" and held there for branding, and cutting out whatever is not wanted. Two "circles" are made a day.
Soon as Jeff, the cow foreman, seen the wagons lining out in good shape for that night's camp, he put his horse in a high lope and looking back at the boys that was doing their best in putting up a ride on the sun-fishing ponies, he grinned as he seen that all stuck on and fanned, and felt mighty proud of being the cow boss of such a bunch of riders.
Clint was riding a big "apelusa" called Chapo, and one of the best circle horses the outfit had, but he wasn't appreciating him much just then. And as he rode along leaving the wagons and remuda to his left his eyes was a whole lot on the dust that remuda made, and a trying to get a glimpse of a mouse colored piece of horseflesh which he'd called Smoky.
But Smoky was getting along fine as he trotted and loped along on the trail of the wagons. He'd no more than left Clint by the rope corral when he run acrost that brother of his again and after the two nickered "howdedoos" at one another they trailed along side by side, plum contented with everything in general. The sound of the dozen or so bells that was strapped to the necks of the oldest and wisest ponies was new and mighty pleasant to Smoky's ears, and it was good to be roaming again and with so much company.
It was middle afternoon when the pilot came to a big creek bottom and circled by a grove of willows and cottonwoods. The second camp of that day was made, the wrangler let the remuda come to a walk and pretty soon left 'em to graze on towards the creek a half a mile below camp; and as he seen that all seemed contented to graze, drink, and roll, he left 'em to go and put up the rope corral, snake in wood for the cook, and whatever other things that's all the responsibilities of the wrangatang.
He kept one eye on the ponies as he worked and if any restless bronc showed indications of wanting to start drifting, that boy jumped on his horse, turned him, and watched for a spell till that bronc seemed satisfied to stay. Many a wrangler had used the excuse of "hard-to-hold ponies" just so he could get away from too much work, and most always it was a mighty good excuse too.
But Smoky and Pecos, which was his brother, had give no such a excuse to the wrangler. They both seemed mighty satisfied, and after they'd had a good drink in the cool stream, and a good roll afterwards, put their time in getting away with all the blue joint grass they could. Every once in a while Smoky would raise his head, and chewing on a mouthful of the tall feed, would look up at the ridges around him, then towards the camp and wonder at the noise the cook was making with his pots and pans. All had him interested, it was all new, and with the nicker he'd often hear from one side of the scattered remuda and then the other, the steady ring of the horse bells and all. The little horse wasn't hankering for anything only just what he was in the thick of.
He'd been grazing for a good long time, and the sun was hitting towards the ridges to the west, when to the south a ways he noticed a big dust a soaring up the sky and a mile high. There was a steady rumbling noise as the dust came closer and pretty soon he could make out the bellering of the critter. A big herd it was, the "combings" of the first "circle," and a thousand head or more of whitefaced, brockle-faced, speckled, red, black, and all colors and sizes of range cattle topped a ridge and on a high lope was swung towards the "cutting grounds."
About that time the horse wrangler fogged in on the remuda, and in a short while Smoky and all the ponies found themselves in the rope corral once again; the cowboys was needing fresh horses and catch ropes begin a sailing once more as the twenty and more of 'em snared their "cut" horses, a few snaked out broncs and pretty soon all hands was mounted again, and working the herd they'd brought in.
Smoky was spooked up once more as he heard the ropes sing over his ears. He heard a familiar voice say "How's she going, Smoky?" but the little horse was busy hunting a hole about that time and he was too excited to nicker an answer. Then, after what seemed an awful long time to Smoky, the ponies was left out of the corral once more and when the wrangler checked 'em all to graze, him and Pecos was in the lead.
The ponies was grazing on a low bench and on the opposite side of the creek from where the cattle herd was being worked. Many was cut out and started back on the same range from where they come, and pretty soon Smoky's sensitive nostrils smelled the smoke from the fire that kept the branding irons hot; then the smell of burnt hair followed, he heard the beller of the critters, and snorting sorta low and in wonder, the mouse colored pony watched.
He watched the riders at work, seen long ropes a swinging, and how them long ropes would stop the bunch-quitting steer; he was familiar with some of that and somehow there came in him a hunch that he'd like to be closer; there was something about the workings of that herd across the creek that had his blood racing above natural, and he felt a kind of a call for the whole of the goings on, a call of the kind he couldn't as yet understand, but it was there sure enough.
Finally, the smell of singed hair wasn't on the breeze no more, branding was over for that day, and the last rope was coiled up and fastened by the saddle horn. Smoky watched as all but a few riders left the herd and headed for camp, he went to grazing then, and neck and neck with Pecos he listened to the rattle of tin plates and the laugh of the cowboys as he nosed around for the tenderest stems of the blue joint.
Four riders on "cocktail" (hours between the last meal of the day and the first night guard) got on their horses and rode to "relieve" the riders holding the herd, and it wasn't long after that when the quiet of the evening settled on the range. Even the critter seemed to want to stop bellering for a spell at that time, most of the bells of the remuda was quiet and the ponies was dozing.
Smoky had been dozing too, but pretty soon his ears perked up at a sound the likes of which he'd never heard before, the sound came from the camp, and strange as it was there was something about it that wasn't at all aggravating.
Around a good size fire was gathered the cowboys,--the cook, the flunky, the wrangler, Jeff the foreman and all was in the circle, all but the four riders on "cocktail" and the "nighthawk" who'd took the wrangler's place for the night's herding of the saddle horses. Most of the boys was setting on or leaning against a big roll of tarpaulin covered bedding, and one closest to the fire was a working away trying to get a tune on his mouth organ.
That was the sound which'd come to Smoky's ears; the older cowhorses all knowed that sound well, and if any of 'em could of packed a tune there'd been many in the remuda a humming. The song that was being worked at just then had been heard at all the cow camps and round-up wagons of the cow country for many years, and handed down from the injun fighting cowboy to the son that took up the trail where he left it and when the horns on the critter wasn't so long no more. There was a lot of memories stirred up whenever them songs was heard and many a cowboy got sentimental at the sound of 'em, for most all cowboys can remember some quiet night when the time of such a song was spread around the herd; --then of a sudden and for no reason a stampede is in full swing, a dead cowboy is found under his horse at the bottom of a fifty foot jump off, and leaves only the memory of the song he'd been singing that night.
"Oh, I'm a Texas cowbo-o-oy, and far away from home, And if I ever get back again no more will I ever roam, Wyoming's too cold for me-e-e, the winters are too long, And when round up comes again, my money's all go-o-o-ne."
Clint had got harmonious, and with the other cowboy a trying to keep up on the mouth organ was singing the song. He mixed in about ten verses and took in other songs as he went, the tunes changed some, but the "Texas whang" he carried with the tunes made 'em more or less alike and all appreciated the same.
The last verse had died down, some of the boys looked up expecting more, and others, hat brim pulled down, was star-gazing at the fire and letting the memories the songs had brought lead 'em back to times and happenings that'd been stirred the most.
All was quiet, excepting for the crackling of the fire, and one of the boys was just about to speak the name of some other old song when off from the direction where the remuda was held, a nicker was heard.
Clint looked towards where the familiar nicker had come and smiled,--the cowboy's voice had carried to where Smoky had been grazing, and the little horse had stopped grinding on his feed soon as the first verse had hit his ears; he'd listened on thru to the end, nickered, and watched the fire on the creek bottom from where the voice had come.
He watched it long into the night till all was quiet and the fire had dwindled down to coals; time for first night guard to be relieved was near and Smoky was still watching. Pecos was dozing off a ways, and pretty soon Smoky begin to feel a little groggy too and he dozed with him.
A new day was no more than hinted by the paling sky to the east when the "nighthawk" begin bunching the ponies and hazing 'em towards camp. It was still faint daylight when the catch ropes was a hissing over the ponies' heads once again and loops settled around slick necks. Broncs was drug out, and a fighting against the saddle while the sun was still back of the ridges, but the day's work had started at the round up camp.
In a short while the remuda was let out again, and the day wrangler started grazing 'em while the outfit broke camp for other grounds. When all was loaded in the big wagons the pilot took the lead, and when the sun showed up to begin its circle up above, the cook had already moved his kitchen some ten miles and the pots was beginning to feel the heat of the fire underneath.
Smoky was in another new country that day, and as he grazed with the remuda he noticed the same workings of the day before, another big herd was brought in from that morning's "circle," then one more that afternoon, more cattle was cut out and then singed hair floated on the breeze once more.
Twice again he was corralled with the remuda for fresh horses the riders was needing, and the little horse was slow beginning to get used to the sound of the ropes and the sight of the strange cowboys. Clint was to see him at the last corralling of the day and when the nighthawk took the ponies out for the night Smoky nipped Pecos in the flanks. He felt playful.
Outside of the time he spent in the rope corral the little horse was enjoying the following of the round-up mighty well,--there was always so many horses around, and all with the bellering of the big herds and the dust that was kept up sure tallied up with the beat of his heart. He hadn't figgered on what to expect being one of the remuda that way, and being that he couldn't make out all that went on he didn't know just what could be expected, and that's why maybe he wasn't worried much.
"Going to make a very big circle this morning, Jeff?"
It was the morning of the third day that Clint asked the foreman that question, and when Jeff answered he understood what was on Clint's mind. He grinned at the cowboy as he spoke.
"You go ahead and ride your Smoky horse, Clint, I'll put you on the inside circle so as it won't be too hard on him."
And that's how come when it was Smoky's turn to be rode that the easiest was handed him. The horse spotted Clint coming towards him, a rope was in his hands but no loop was dragging and he met the cowboy halfways.
Of the many ponies that makes up a "remuda" there's seldom any that can be walked up to, even the gentlest has to be roped. They're broke that way and it all saves time, for a cowboy can stand off thirty feet, rope his horse and start leading him out from there. It saves him many steps and when there's so many riders and horses, them steps and the time it'd take to make 'em sure would accumulate. Then again there's so many wild ponies that would have to be roped anyway. So making the whole thing simple, every horse is caught with a loop. No good roper ever whirls a loop in catching horses, and the only sound that's heard is when the rope splits from the ground to the pony's head.
Once in a while, and even with real cow outfits that's well run, there's exceptions in roping every horse that way. Smoky was the one exception on the Rocking R, and every cowboy was good natured jealous at the way that mouse colored son of a gun of a horse would stick his head out every time Clint came around and then left his hiding place from amongst the other horses to meet him.
Smoky knowed that something was up soon as Clint came near him, but whatever it was he was anxious to be at it;--him and that cowboy would get along. The little horse humped up as he felt the cinch, and Clint grinned as he remarked:
"Going to make this old broke-down cowboy ride this morning, huh?"
And Smoky did. He bogged his head soon as Clint was well set, and bucked and bellered all over the flat like he was a man-eating outlaw. It was the right thing for a live horse to do them cold fall mornings, and Clint was enjoying fanning the dust off Smoky's round rump the same as that pony enjoyed the idea that he sure was giving somebody a tossing.
"Better save some of that," says Clint as he finally pulled Smoky's head up, "cause you might need all the energy you got before you get back."
About twelve miles or so from camp a knoll was reached; from there Jeff "scattered" his riders to circle and comb the country on the way back. Clint and another rider was the last to be let go, and on the "inside" brought with 'em all the cattle they found. Half ways back to camp, Smoky begin to notice big dusts on both sides of him; them dusts kept a getting closer and closer till pretty soon he begin to see that it was more cattle making them dusts. Herds kept a being drove in with the bunch Clint and the other rider had rounded up, and by the time camp was reached, all the dusts had throwed in and made one. Twenty or more riders and over a thousand head of cattle was turned to the cutting grounds and held there a milling.
Smoky was tired, he'd been breathing dust and turning bleary-eyed critters till it seemed like there'd be no end. Besides it felt awful hot on his back where the saddle was, and even tho Clint often got off, uncinched the saddle and raised it so the cool air could circulate thru, it wasn't long when his back, not used to long saddling, would feel as hot as ever again.
It was a great relief to the little horse when the saddle was pulled off as they reached camp and the rope corral. Clint then led him to the creek and washed the dry sweat off his back with the cool water, and as that was done Smoky right away forgot the work of that first circle. He felt a lot at ease with everything in general as Clint turned him loose in the corral, and a while later when fresh horses was caught and ropes begin sailing again, Smoky wasn't for hunting a hole like the times before; he felt that he'd done his.--Pecos was snared while standing a few feet from him, and then the ponies was turned loose. But there Smoky lagged behind a little; he'd spotted Clint who was saddling another horse, and he stood in his tracks, watching, and maybe wondering. Then the wrangler came, and Smoky followed the remuda up the draw.
Plenty of grass, under, and all around him, and a chance to stand still was for the first time appreciated by the mouse colored gelding. He'd had a taste of real work, the first taste, and with it had come the feeling that he wasn't no half broke bronc no more. He was even beginning to look at the critter with a knowing eye and something was sprouting up in him which left no doubt but what he was the boy that could handle 'er.
He never figgered on how much there was to learn in the ways of handling that split-hoofed range animal,--he'd had no way to know as yet, and as it was he grazed feeling sure that he knowed a lot about 'em. He felt equal to the old saddle marked cowhorses that was in the same remuda and he wouldn't have nothing to do with the raw broncs that was mixed in. But there that high opinion of himself was stopped, for the old cowhorses wouldn't let him associate with 'em and as they'd chase him away, he failed to notice that they felt the same about him as he did about the uneddicated raw broncs.
But then, credit had to be handed to the little horse on account that even tho he still had a powerful lot to learn, he sure was all for learning, and the pride he'd naturally took in the game, along with the coaching of such a cowboy as Clint, all promised that he'd sure get there.
Smoky watched every herd that came in, followed the wagon on its everyday move, and was even getting used to them ropes that sung over his head three or four times a day. Of course Clint was always on hand at each corralling to kind of help him get used to all the commotion, and came a time when the little horse knowed exactly where and which side of the corral that cowboy would be. His saddle was always on the ground a few feet on the outside, and every horse he caught to ride would always be led or "snaked" to that same spot, and Smoky got so that whenever he was corralled he'd make a rush for that one spot where he could easy reach Clint's shirt whenever the attention of that cowboy was needed.
Each rider on the outfit was furnished on the average of ten horses; there was anyway three changes of horses every day which made it that every horse was rode from four to six hours every third day, and that's how Smoky's turn came. Clint rode him out on "circle" three times, and till the little horse got pretty well onto the hazing of the critter, and then that pony was of a sudden promoted to the "day-herd" class. Of course Smoky was somewhat of a privileged character or he wouldn't made that so soon, but the way he took holt of the bit and went to work he sure didn't disappoint Clint any.
The promotion started when that cowboy thought of trying him out one day as a big herd was brought in to work. He'd changed his tired "circle" horse to Smoky, and after that pony had his buck out he lined him out to a standstill close to the milling critters. It was Clint's and Smoky's job to see that none broke away outside of what was cut out to be held for the "main herd." A dozen other riders was on the same job and most all riding well reined cowhorses, and as Smoky noticed the kind of company he was keeping, a ticklish feeling came between his ears and a spark showed in his eyes.
He was about at the height of his glory and hardly able to stay on earth, when, quick as the eye could see, a big raw-boned steer broke out, and wild-eyed dodged past the riders and hightailed it out for open country. In the trance Smoky was in he hardly seen anything of the critter but a flash, but as the earth had no strings on him either just then it only took a feel of the rein for him to be up and a flying. That flash that went past him a second before was recognized as an earthly critter soon as Smoky set eyes on 'er, and soon as he got the hunch that that critter needed turning, the distance between was et up the same as tho that horse had been starving for such.
There was a mighty satisfied smile on Clint's face as the steer was shot back in the herd the same way he'd come out, and as for Smoky, there sure was nothing about him that suggested "the end of the trail." He was brought to a mighty proud standstill by the herd again, and no critter broke out that he wasn't right on the tail of from the start, unless it was in some other rider's territory.
Working the herds that was drove to the cutting grounds, and holding the day herd, was from then on Smoky's work. He liked working the herds best on account there was more to do, but then day herding wasn't so bad either, Clint always seen that his rope was kept well stretched, and soon as he knowed the foreman was gone on circle with the other riders he could easy find some critter he had a grudge against and pile his rope onto, and Smoky sure enjoyed turning 'em over.
All the boys, excepting the "reps" from other outfits, had one half a day of day herding every three days. Smoky's time to be rode came on the dot of that time, but Clint didn't always take him out on that, and often he'd switch so that the little horse would get plenty of work cutting out or bringing big calves and "slicks" to the branding fire, and that pony was sure beginning to shine there.
Once in a while tho Clint would get sort of selfish and want Smoky's company on that long half a day's herding, and it was during them spells that the two got to be more understanding, if that's possible, to one another. Neither was so rushed for work then, and there was times when the big herd of beef steers and cows and weaners would want to graze and not try to drift away or scatter. At them times Clint would rein Smoky up a knoll, and where both could see the whole of the herd. He'd get out of his saddle and stretch out in the shade Smoky made, and take it easy, and there, with one eye on the cowboy, the other on the herd, and swishing flies, Smoky would stand.