07 - The Log of a Cowboy: The Colorado

Episode Transcript

Speaker 1 (00:00):
Chapter seven of The Log of a Cowboy by Andy Adams.
This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. The Colorado
the month of May found our circle dot heard, in
spite of all drawbacks, nearly five hundred miles on its way.
For the past week. We had been traveling over that

(00:22):
immense table land which skirts the arid portion of western Texas.
A few days before, while passing the Blue Mountains, which
stand as a southern sentinel in the chain marking the
headwaters of the Concho River, we had our first glimpse
of the hills in its almost primitive condition. The country

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was generous, supplying every want for sustenance of horses and cattle.
The grass at this stage of the season was well matured,
the herd taking on flesh in a very gratifying manner,
and while we had crossed some rocky country, lame and
sore footed cattle had as yet caused us no serious trouble.

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One morning, when within one day's drive of the Colorado River,
as our herd was leaving the bed ground, the last
guard encountered a bunch of cattle drifting back down the trail.
There were nearly fifty head of the stragglers, and as
one of our men on guard turned them to throw
them away from our herd, the road brand caught his

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eye and he recognized the strays as belonging to the
Ellison herd, which had passed us at the Indian Lakes
some ten days before. Flood's attention. Once drawn to the brand,
he ordered them thrown into our herd. It was evident
that some trouble had occurred with the Ellison cattle, possibly
a stampede, and it was but a neighborly act to

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lend any assistance in our power as soon as the
outfit could breakfast, mount and take the herd. Flood sent
priests and me to scout the country to the westward
of the trail, while Bob Blades and Ash Borrowstone started
on a similar errand to the eastward, with orders to

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throw in any drifting cattle in the Ellison road brand.
Within an hour after starting, the herd encountered several straggling bands,
and as Priests and I were on the point of
returning to the herd, we almost overrode a bunch of
eighty odd head lying down in some broken country. They
were gaunt and tired, and the rebel at once pronounced

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their stiffened movements the result of a stampede. We were
drifting them back towards the trail when Nate Straw and
two of his men rode out from our herd and
met us. I always did claim that it was better
to be born lucky than hansom, said Straw as he
rode up. One weak flood saves me from a dry drive,

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and the very next one he's just the right distance
behind to catch my drift from a nasty stampede. Not
only that, but my peelers and I are riding circle
dot horses, as well as reaching the wagon in time
for breakfast and lining our flues with levels a good chuck.
It's too good luck to last. I'm afraid I'm not

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hankering for the dramatic life. But we had a run
last night that would curl your hair. Just about midnight,
a bunch of range cattle ran into us, and before
you could say Jack Robinson, our doggies had vamboost the
ranch and were running in half a dozen different directions.
We rounded them up the best we could in the dark,

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and then I took a couple of men and came
back down the trail about twenty miles to catch any drift.
One day dawned. But you see, there's nothing like being
lucky and having good neighbors, cattle caught, fresh horses, and
a warm breakfast all waiting for you. I'm such a
lucky dog. It's a wonder someone didn't steal me when

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I was little. I can help it, but some day
I'll marry a banker's daughter or fall heir to a
ranch as big as Old mc cullough County. Before meeting us,
Straw had confided it to our foreman that he could
assign no other plausible excuse for the stampede than that
it was the work of cattle rustlers. He claimed to

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know the country along the Colorado, and unless it had
changed recently, those hills to the westward harbored a good
many of the worst rustlers in the state. He admitted
it might have been wolves chasing the range cattle, but
though it had the ear marks of being done by
human wolves, he maintained that few herds had ever passed

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that river without loss of cattle, unless the rustlers were
too busy elsewhere to give the passing herd their attention.
Straw had ordered his herd to drop back down the
trail about ten miles from their camp of the night previous,
and about noon the two herds met on a branch
of Brady Creek. By that time our herd had nearly

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three hundred head of the Ellison cattle, so he held
it up and cut theirs out. Straw urged our foreman,
whatever he did, not to make camp in the Colorado
bottoms or anywhere near the river if he didn't want
a repetition of his experience. After starting our herd in
the afternoon, about a half a dozen of us turned

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and lent a hand in counting Straw's herd, which proved
to be over a hundred heads short, and nearly half
his outfit was still out hunting cattle. Acting on Straw's advice,
we camped that night some five or six miles back
from the river on the last divide. From the time
the second guard went out until the third was relieved,

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we took the precaution of keeping a scout outriding from
a half to three quarters of a mile distant from
the herd flood and honeyman serving in that capacity. Every
precaution was taken to prevent a surprise, and in case
anything did happened, our night horses, tied to the wagon wheels,
stood ready saddled and bridled for any emergency. But the

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night passed without incident. An hour or two after the
herds started the next morning, four well mounted strange men
rode up from the westward, and, representing themselves as trail cutters,
asked for our foremen. Flood met them in his usual
quiet manner, and, after admitting that we had been troubled

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more or less with range cattle, assured our callers that
if there was anything in the herd in the brands
they represented, he would gladly hold it up and give
them every opportunity to cut their cattle out. As he
was anxious to cross the river before noon, he invited
the visitors to stay for dinner, assuring them that before

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starting the herd in the afternoon, he would throw the
cattle together for their inspection. Flood made himself very agreeable,
inquiring into cattle and range manners in general, as well
as the stage of the water in the river ahead.
The spokesman of the trail cutters met Flood's invitation to
dinner with excuses about the pressing demands on his time,

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and urged, if it did not seriously interfere with our plans,
that he be allowed to inspect the herd before crossing
the river. His reasons seemed trivial, and our foreman was
not convinced. You see, gentlemen, he said, in handling these
southern cattle, we must take advantage of occasions. We had

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timed our morning's drive so as to reach the river
during the warmest hour of the day, or as near
noon as possible. You can hardly imagine what a difference
there is in fording this herd between a cool, cloudy
day and a clear, hot one. You see, the herd
is strung out nearly a mile in length now, and

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to hold them up and waste an hour or more
for your inspection would seriously disturb our plans. And then
our wagon and Ramuda have gone on with orders to
noon at the first good camp beyond the river. I
perfectly understand your reasons, and you equally understand mine. But
I will send a man or two back to help
you recross any cattle you may find in our herd. Now,

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if a couple of you, gentlemen, will ride around to
the far side with me and the others will ride
up near the lead. We will trail the cattle across
when we reached the river without cutting the herd into blocks.
Flood's affability coupled with the fact that the lead cattle
were nearly up to the river. On his point, our

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visitors could only yield and rode forward with our lead
swingmen to assist in forcing the lead cattle into the river.
It was swift water, but otherwise an easy crossing, and
we allowed the herd, after coming out on the farther side,
to spread out and graze forward at its pleasure. The
wagon and saddle stock were in sight about a mile ahead,

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and leaving two men on herd to drift the cattle
in the right direction, the rest of us rode leisurely
on to the wagon, where dinner was waiting. Flood treated
our callers with marked courtesy during dinner, and casually inquired
if any of their number had seen any cattle that
day or the day previous in the Ellison Road brand

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They had not, they said, explaining that their range lay
on both sides of the Concho, and that during the
trail season they kept all their cattle between that river
and the main Colorado. Their work had kept them on
their own range recently, except when trailherds were passing and
needed to be looked through for strays. It sounded as

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though our trail cutters could also use diplomacy. On occasion
when dinner was over and we had caught the horses
for the afternoon and were ready to mount Flood, asked
our guests for their credentials as duly authorized trail cutters.
They replied they had none, but offered an explanation the
statement that they were merely cutting in the interest of

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the immediate locality, which required no written authority. Then the
previous affability of our foreman turned iron well. Men said
he if you have no authority to cut this trail,
then you don't cut this herd. I must have inspection
papers before I can move a brand out of the
county in which it is bred, And I'll certainly let

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no other man, local or duly appointed, cut an animal
out of this herd without written and certified authority. You
know that, without being told or ought to, I respect
the rights of every man post it on a trail
to cut it. If you want to see my inspection papers,
you have a right to demand them, and in turn

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I demand of you your credentials showing who you work
for and the list of brands you represent. Otherwise, no
harm's done, nor do you cut any herd that I
am driving well, said one of the men. I saw
a couple of head in my own individual brand as
we rode up the herd. I'd like to see the
man who says that I haven't the right to claim

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my own brand anywhere I find it. There's anything in
our herd in your individual brand, said Flood. All you
have to do is give me the brand and I'll
cut it for you. What's your brand the window sash?
Have any of you boys seen such a brand in
our herd, inquired Flood, turning to us as we all

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stood by our horses ready to start. I didn't recognize
it by that name, replied Quince Forrest, who rode in
the swing on the branded side of the cattle and
belonged to the last Guard. But I remember seeing such
a brand, though I would have given it a different name. Yes,
come to think of it, I'm sure I saw it,

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and I'll tell you where. Yesterday morning, when I rode
out to throw those drifting cattle away, from our herd.
I saw the brand among Ellison's cattle, which had stampeded
the night before. When Straw's outfit cut theirs out yesterday,
they must have left the window sash cattle with us.
Those were the range cattle which stampeded his herd. It

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looked to me a little blotched, but if I had
been called on to name it, I'd have called it
a thief's brand. If these gentlemen claim them, though it'll
only take a minute to cut them out. This outfit
needn't get personal and fling out their insults, retorted the
claimant of the window sash brand. For I'd claim my
own if there are a hundred of you, and you

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can depend that any animal I claim i'll take. If
I have to go back to the ranch and bring
twenty men to help me do it, you won't need
any help to get all that's coming to you, replied
our foreman, as he mounted his horse. Let's throw the
herd together, boys, and cut these window sash cattle out.
We don't want any cattle in our herd that's stampede

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on an open range at midnight. They must certainly be
terrible wild. As we rode out together. Our trail cutters
dropped behind and kept a respectable distance from the herd
while we threw the cattle together. When the herd had
closed to the required compactness, Flood called our trail cutters
up and said, now men, each one of you can

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take one of my outfit with you and inspect this
herd to your satisfaction. If you see anything there you claim,
we'll cut it out for you, but don't attempt to
cut anything yourselves. We rode in by pears, a man
of ours with each stranger, and after riding leisurely through
the herd for half an hour, cut out three head

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in the blotched brand called the window sash. Before leaving
the herd, one of the strangers laid claim to a
red cow, but Fox quarter Knight refused to cut the animal.
When that pear rode out, the stranger accosted Flood. I
noticed a cow of mine in there, said he not
in your road brand, which I claim. Your man here

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refused to cut her for me, So I appeal to you.
What's her brand? Fox asked Flood. She's a cue cow,
but the colonel here thinks it's an O. I happen
to know the cow and the bran both. She came
into the herd four hundred miles south of here while
we were watering the herd in the Nuasas River. The

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coue is a little dim, but it's plenty plain to
hold her for the present. If she's a cue cow,
I have no claim on her, protested the stranger. But
if the brand is an O, then I claim her
as astray from our range. And I don't care if
she came into your herd when you were watering in
the San Fernando River in Old Mexico. I'll claim her

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just the same. I'm going to ask you to throw her.
I'll throw her for you, coolly replied Fox, And bet
you my saddle in six shooters on the side that
it isn't an O. And even if it was, you
and all the thieves on the concho can't take her.
I know a few of the simple principles of rustling myself.

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Do you want her thrown? That's what I asked for.
Throw her, then said flood, and don't let's parley. Fox
rode back into the herd, and after some little delay,
located the cow and worked her out to the edge
of the cattle. Dropping his rope, he cut her out
clear of the herd, and as she circled around in

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an endeavor to reenter, he rode close and made an
easy cast of the rope about her horns. As he
threw his horse back to check the cow, I rode
to his assistance, my rope in hand, and as the
cow turned ends, I healed her. A number of the
outfit rode up and dismounted, and one of the boys

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taken her by the tail. We threw the animal as
humanly as possible in order to get at the brand,
which was on the side. We turned the cow over
when Flood took out his knife and cut the hair away,
leaving the brand easily traceable. What is she, Jim, inquired Fox,
as he sat his horse holding the rope. Taunt. I'll

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let this man who claims her answer that question, replied Flood,
as her claimant critically examined the brand to his satisfaction.
I claim her as an o cow, said the stranger
facing Flood. Well, you claim more than you'll ever get,
replied our foreman. Turn her loose. Boys. The cow was
freed and turned back into the herd, but the claimant

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tried to argue the matter with flood, claiming the branding
iron had simply slipped, giving the appearance of a CUE
instead of an O as it was intended to be.
Our foreman paid little attention to the stranger, but when
his persistence became annoying, checked his argument by saying, my
Christian friend, there's no use arguing this matter. You asked

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to have the cow thrown and withdrew her. You might
as well try to tell me that the cow is white,
as to claim her in any other brand than a cue.
You may read brand's as well as I do, but
you're wasting your time arguing against the facts. You'd better
take your window, sash cattle and ride on, for you've
cut all you're going to cut here to day. But

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before you go, for fear I may never see you again,
I'll take this occasion to say that I think your
common cow thieves. By this straight talk, our foreman stood
several inches higher in our estimation as we sat our
horses grinning at the discomfiture of the trail cutters, while
a dozen six shooters slouched languidly at our hips. To

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give emphasis to his words, before going, I'll take this
occasion to say to you that you will see me again,
replied the leader, riding up and confronting Flood. You haven't
got near enough men the bluff me as to calling
me a cow thief. That's altogether too common a name
to offend any one, and from what I can gather,

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the name wouldn't miss you or your outfit over a
thousand miles. Now, in taking my leave, I want to
tell you that you'll see me before another day passes.
And what's more, I'll bring an outfit with me and
we'll cut your herd clean to your road brand, if
for no better reason, just to learn you not to
be so insolent. After hanging up his threat, Flood said

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to him as he turned the ride away, Well, now,
my young friend, you're bargaining for a whole lot of fun.
I notice you carry a gun, and quite naturally, suppose
you shoot a little as occasion requires. Suppose when you
and your outfit come back, you come a shootin' so
will know who you are. For I promise you there's
liable to be some powder burned when you cut this herd,

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amid jeers of derision from our outfit. The trail cutters
drove off their three lonely window sash cattle. We had
gained the point we wanted, and now, in case of
any trouble during inspection or at night, we had the
river behind us to catch our herd. We paid little
attention to the threat of our disappointed callers, but several

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times Straw's remarks as to the character of the residence
of those hills to the westward reoccurred to my mind.
I was young, but new enough instead of asking foolish
questions to keep mum, though my eyes and ears drank
in everything. Before we had been on the trail over
an hour. We met two men riding down the trail

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towards the river. Meeting us, they turned and rode along
with our foreman some distance apart from the herd for
nearly an hour, and curiosity ran freely among us boys
around the herd as to who they might be. Finally,
Flood rode forward to the pointman and gave the order
to throw off the trail and make a short drive

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that afternoon. Then, in company with the two strangers, he
rode forward to overtake our wagon, and we saw nothing
more of him until we reached camp that evening as much. However,
our appointment was able to gather from our foremen that
the two men were members of a detachment of rangers
who had been sent as a result of information given

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by the first herd over the trail that year. This herd,
which had passed some twenty days ahead of us, had
met with a stampede below the river, and on reaching Abilene,
had reported the presence of rustlers preying on thru herds
at the crossing of the Colorado. On reaching the camp
that evening with the herd, we found ten of the

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rangers as our guests for the night. The detachment was
under a corporal named Joe Hames, who had detailed two
of the men we had met during the afternoon to
scout this crossing. Upon the information afforded by our foremen
about the wood be trail cutters. These scouts, accompanied by flood,
had turned back to advise the ranger squad encamped in

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a secluded spot about ten miles northeast of the Colorado crossing.
They had only arrived late the day before, and this
was their first meeting with any trail herd to secure
any definite information. Hames at once assumed charge of the
herd flood gladly, rendering every assistance possible. We night heard

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it as usual, but during the two middle guards Hames
sent out four of his rangers to scout the immediate
outlying country, though as we expected, they met with no adventure.
At daybreak, the rangers threw their packs into our wagon
and their loose stock into our remuta, and riding up
the trail a mile or more, left us, keeping well

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out of sight. We were all hopeful now that the
trail cutters of the day before would make good their
word and return. In this hope, we killed time for
several hours that morning, grazing the cattle and holding the
wagon in the rear. Sending the wagon ahead of the
herd had been agreed on as the signal between our
foremen and the ranger corporal. At first sight of any

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posse behind us, we were beginning to despair of their coming.
When a dust cloud appeared several miles back down the trail.
We at once hurried the wagon and remuda ahead to
warn the rangers, and allowed the cattle to string out
nearly a mile in length. A fortunate rise in the
trail gave us a glimpse of the cavalcade in our rear,

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which was entirely too large to be any portion of
Straw's outfit, and shortly we were overtaken by our trail
cutters of the day before, now increased to twenty two
mounted men. Flood was intentionally in the lead of the herd,
and the entire outfit galloped forward to stop the cattle.
When they had nearly reached the lead, Flood turned back

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and met the rustlers. Well, I'm as good as my word,
said the leader, and I'm here to trim your herd.
As I promised, I would throw off and hold up
your cattle, or I'll do it for you. Several of
our outfit rode up at this juncture in time to
hear Flood reply, if you think you're equal to the occasion,
hold them up yourselves. If I had as big an

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outfit as you have, I wouldn't ask any man to
help me. I want to watch a Colorado River outfit
work a herd. I might learn something. My outfit will
take a rest or, perhaps hold the cut or otherwise
clerk for you. Be careful and don't claim anything that
you are not certain is your own. For I reserved
the right to look over your cut before you drive

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it away. The rustlers rode in a body to the lead,
and when they had thrown the herd off the trail,
about half of them rode back and drifted forward the
rear kettle. Flood called our outfit to one side and
gave us our instructions, the herd being entirely turned over
to the rustlers. After they began cutting, we rode around

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and pretended to assist in holding the cut as the
strays in our herd were being cut out. When the
red cue cow came out, Fox cut her back, which
nearly precipitated a row, for she was promptly recut to
the strays by the man who claimed her the day before.
Not a man of us ever cast a glance up
the trail or in the direction of the rangers. But

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when the work was over, Flood protested with the leader
of the rustlers over some five or six head of
dim branded cattle, which actually belonged to our herd. But
he was exultant and would listen to no protest, and
attempted to drive away the cut, now numbering nearly fifty head.
Then we rode across their front and stopped them in

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this parley, which ensued. Harsh words were passing when one
of our outfit blurted out, in well feigned surprise, Hello,
who's that coming over there? A squad of men were
riding leisurely through our abandoned herd, coming over to where
the two outfits were disputing. What's the trouble here, gents,
inquired Hames as he rode up. Who are you and

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what might be your business? May I ask? Inquired the
leader of the rustlers. Personally I'm nobody, but officially I'm
Corporal and Company B Texas Rangers. Well, if there isn't
smiling ed Winter's the biggest cattle thief ever born in
Medina County. Why, I've got papers for you for altering

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the brands of over fifty head of sea cattle into
a g brand. Come here, dear, and give me that
gun of yours. Come on, and no false moves or
funny work, or I'll shoot the white out of your eye.
Surround this layout, lads, and let's examine them more closely.
At this command, every man in our outfit whipped out

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a six shooter, the Rangers leveling their carvings on the Rustlers,
and in less than a minute's time, they were disarmed,
and as crestfallen, a group of men, as ever walked
into a trap of their own setting. Hames got out
a black book and after looking the crowd over, concluded
to hold the entire covey has the description of the

(25:58):
wanted seemed to include most to them. Some of the
rustlers attempted to explain their presence, but Hames decided to
hold the entire party just to learn them to be
more careful of their company the next time. As he
put it, the cut had drifted away into the herd
again during the arrest, and about half our outfit took
the cattle on to where the wagon camped for noon.

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Mc cann had anticipated an extra crowd for dinner and
was prepared for the emergency. When dinner was over and
the rangers had packed and were ready to leave, Hames
said the flood, well, Flood, I'm powerful, glad I met
you and your outfit. This has been one of the
biggest round ups for me in a long time. You
don't know how proud I am over this bunch of beauties.

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Why there's liable to be enough rewards out for this
crowd to buy my girl a new pair of shoes,
and say when your wagon comes into Ablene. If I
ain't there, just drive around to the Sheriff's office and
leave those captured guns. I'm sorry to load your wifeagging
down that way, but I'm short of pack mules and
it would be a great favor to me. Besides, these

(27:06):
fellows are not liable to need any guns for some
little time. I like your company and your chalk flood,
but you see how it is the best of friends
must part. And then I have an invitation to take
dinner in Abilene by tomorrow noon, so I must be
a writing. Adios everybody. End of chapter seven.