Chapter VII: Part 7

The steers could not be held there long, so the next morning Uncle John, with a heavy heart, started the outfit at daybreak for the railroad loading pens, thirty miles away, leaving Jim, who had asked for the job, behind to keep a lookout for the body of the drowned cowboy. All day long he rode the banks of the river. Every eddy as well as the great rafts of driftwood, was carefully searched. Just a short time before sunset he noticed a couple of buzzards a little lower down on the river slowly circling overhead. He knew their keen eyes saw something, and both hoping and dreading that it was what he sought, he worked his way down towards the point over which the great birds were hovering. Here the river had cut into the sandy bank and a thicket of willows hung over the yellow water. Getting down onto one knee, Jim peered under them.

Yes, there was "something" there. His heart came into his mouth, he gasped for breath, and the cold sweat stood on his face in great drops. A long, lance like pole from a nearby pile of drift wood, furnished him with a tool to sound the depth of water along the bank. It was not over waist deep, the bottom was firm, and, dropping off the bank, he waded down under the overhanging brush. There, floating in the stream, was the body of the Kid. A bough had caught in the belt of his leather "chaps" and held it firmly. It was the work of a moment for Jim to attach one end of his saddle rope to the belt and carry the other back with him to the open spot above the willows. His first intention was to tow the body up to a place where it could be taken out and then go for help.

Wading up the stream, he climbed out on the bank and sat down to rest for a moment. It was second nature for him to get out his pipe and tobacco, and as he sat there the talk between himself and the singer around the herd the night before the crossing came to his mind. What could he do? The body was found on Mexican soil. About a hundred yards from the bank behind his was a little Mexican _jacal_, or hut, where he had noticed half a dozen children--even now he could hear their shouts as they played. To get it away from there was seemingly impossible.

The twilight was nearly over and in the east the sky was glowing with the light of the moon, which almost at the full would soon rise. For half an hour he sat there thinking, the pipe smoked out and dead between his teeth. Then he rose, knocked the ashes out on his boot heel, slipped the pipe into his pocket, and worked his way carefully up to the top of the bank behind him. Peering through the fringe of trees, he saw in the moonlight the mud daubed _jacal_. A dog barked, in the distance a coyote answered with its shrill "yip, yip," and from the limbs of a mesquite--the family chicken coop--a rooster saluted the rising of the moon with a cheerful crow. In front of the _jacal_ a bright spark glowed where the fire of mesquite limbs over which the evening supper had been cooked, was dying away, and he could dimly make out the forms of the family asleep on the ground near the hut.

Then, satisfied with the condition of things, he carefully worked his way back to the edge of the river, and, having looked to the rope, which he had fastened to a sharp piece of drift driven into the sand, lay down by it and in ten seconds was fast asleep.

About three o'clock the next morning, just as the moon dropped behind the cottonwoods along the river, throwing deep shadows over its sullen tide, four steers, probably lost from the herd the day before, came down to the river to drink. As they reached the edge of the water one raised his head quickly and snuffed the air. The others also threw up their heads and tested the air with their keen noses, their great ears cocked forward to catch the slightest sound. High headed and suspicious, they all stood for an instant, and then as if with one impulse ran back a few steps and stopped to look again.

Out there in the deep shadow something moved slowly and heavily. Now and then a splash came from the object as the water struck against it.

The steers snuffed and licked their lips as do such animals where fear and curiosity is struggling in them for the mastery. Then as the something moved more distinctly, with terror in their eyes they all turned and burst into the darkness behind them, crashing through the young cottonwoods and over piles of loose driftwood in their mad haste to escape--they knew not what. Still, the "something" came on; slowly it moved through the muddy waters until the form of a man could be distinguished in the uncertain light, carrying some heavy load.

At the edge of the river the man placed his burden on the soft sand and dropped down, panting for breath.

* * * * *

At noon that day, a single horseman rode a tired, sweat-covered animal into a little town on the railroad some thirty miles from the river. Two hours later, away to the north, under the snow-capped Rockies, where the city of Trinidad nestles below the Raton Pass, a lone woman received this brief message:

"Dick was accidentally drowned yesterday crossing the river. Wagon
will be here tomorrow with body, Please wire instructions.

"JAMES SCOTT."

PABLO

By permission _The Breeder's Gazette_, Chicago, Ill.

"And Pablo."

"Señor?" And the boy looked inquiringly at the speaker. "You stay right here around this meadow. Here's plenty of feed and water for your band till I come back from town. Savvey?"

"Si, Señor."

"I won't be gone but three days, Pablo," continued the man, shifting uneasily in his saddle, "an' it's a tough deal to give you, but there's nothing else to do. That misable, onery Mack is drunk down in town an' won't never git out till his money's all gone an' somebody takes him by the scruff of the neck an' kicks him out of the saloon an' loads him onto his horse. You've got twelve hundred ewes an' 'leven hundred of the best lambs that this here range has ever seen. There's ten _negros_, _tres campanas_, an' _cinco chivos_; reckon you can keep track of 'em all?"

"Si, Señor," assented the boy, in whose veins flowed the blood of almost three centuries of sheepherders, "_tres_ bells-_campanas_," and three fingers indicated the number of belled ewes in the bunch, "_cinco_ goats," and one outspread hand showed the number of goats with the ewes, "_diez_ black-a markers," holding up all ten fingers.

"That's right, _muchacho_," answered the man; "you keep track of your markers an' bells an' goats, an' you won't lose any sheep. There's plenty of water here for your camp, and the sheep won't need any for some days. There's a lot of poison weeds lower down on the mountain, an' it won't do to graze the band that-a-way. Take 'em up toward the top if you go anywhere; but keep your camp here an' stay with it till I come back, savvey?"

"Si, Señor," with a quick nod of the head.

The man dropped off his horse, gave the curly black mop on the boy's head a hasty pat, picked up the lead rope of a pack mule standing near and, mounting, rode off down the trail.

The little meadow was located on a small bench high on the breast of a mountain whose bare granite peaks rose rough and ragged far above the timber line. At one side of the meadow, under a mighty fir tree, stood the herder's tent, a white pyramid among the green foliage. If there was another human being nearer than the little railroad town forty-five miles away, the boy knew it not. He watched the man ride slowly down the trail until he disappeared behind a mass of trees. The dog at his side whined as the man was lost to view and poked his cold muzzle into the boy's hand.

"Ah, _perrito mio_," and he hugged the fawning animal close to his body, "the _patron_ has gone and left us here all alone to care for the sheep. Think of it, I, Pablo, to be trusted with so much. Shall we not care for them as for our own? Didst hear him say we were not to leave this camp while he was away? Ten black ones for markers, three bells and five great _chivos_. Aha, we shall count them each a hundred times a day, and sly indeed will be the ewe that shall escape from us. Is it not so, my brave Pancho?" And for answer the dog barked and romped about the lad as if to show he also appreciated the honor and responsibility thrust upon the two.

Down the trail the sheepman, Hawk, jogged along toward the town where Mac, the recreant herder, was doubtless wasting his substance in riotous living. "If ever I git holt of that there rascal, I'll wear out the ground with him," he soliloquized. "To go off and leave me with a band of ewes on my hands at such a time and not come back as he promised. Serves me right for letting him go, for I might 'a' known he'd not come back in time. That there Pablo's a good kid all right, but it's a pretty big risk to turn over to a twelve-year-old boy that many ewes and lambs. Lucky for me he happened to stay in camp after the lambing was over; his father's about the best sheepherder on the whole range, and them Mexican kids would rather herd a bunch of sheep than ride on a merry-go-round. Well," and he slapped his horse with the end of his rope, "he's got a good dog, the best in the mountains, an' if he keeps track of his bells an' markers 'tain't likely he'll lose any sheep. However, there ain't no use worrying over it, for I couldn't stay there myself any longer, an' the sooner I gits to town an' hustles that there red headed Mac out to camp, the better."

Down at the foot of the mountain he met a forest ranger leading a pack mule.

"What's doing?" asked Hawk of the government man.

"Big fire over on 'tother side of the mountain," answered the ranger. "Old man phoned me to get over there as soon as ever I could and lend a hand. Mighty dry season now, and if fire ever gets started it'll take a lot more men to stop it than we got in this forest. I been riding now night and day for the last thirty days patroling my district, to lookout for fires, and I hate to have to go clear over on the other side and leave it all uncovered."

"How big a district you got, anyhow?" queried the sheepman.

"Little over six townships and a half; that's over a hundred and fifty thousand acres, and it's all a-standing on edge too"--he waved his gloved hand toward the range about them--"so there's twice as much, if you count the mountain sides. The Super, he asked for six more rangers last fall when he sent in his annual report, but the high collars back there in Washington said Congress was cutting down expenses and so we'd have to spread ourselves out and cover the ground, and do the best we could. That's why the boss rustled the boys out in such a hurry, for we can't afford to take any chances on a fire getting a start. If it ever does, it's good-bye trees, for once a fire gets under good headway in these mountains, with conditions just right, all the fire fighters in hell couldn't stop it. So long, old man, I've got to be a-drifting."

As the ranger moved off up the cañon, the sheepman turned and glanced up at the sky toward the spot where he had left Pablo and his charges. There were no signs of smoke in the clear blue above, so he touched the horse with his spurs and resumed his journey, content to leave the fire fighting to the ranger force until he was called on for aid. Anyhow, it was clear over on the other side of the mountain and he wasn't interested there, and it would be time enough to worry when it got over on to his side. Meanwhile, there was that miserable Mac drunk in town and another band of lambs and ewes somewhere on the range, that he ought to look in on before long.

Back on the mountain meadow Pablo and his ewes and lambs got on famously. The boy pushed the band out on to the mountainside, away from camp, telling Pancho to care for them while he went to find the two pack burros and drive them back to camp. All day long the boy watched the herd as a hen watches her chicks. Over and over again he counted the ten black "markers," those black sheep that come in every flock and without which no herder would work. If all ten of them were there in the herd it was safe to presume that none of the ewes had been lost, for, as they grazed back and forth through the timber, "cuts" might happen to the best of herders. Once he counted but nine. Yes, surely there were but nine. He called the dog to his side, pointed to a ridge beyond them and told the animal to go over there and look for the missing ones.

Away Pancho bounded, stopping often to look back at his master for orders. The boy waved his arm and the dog went on until he stood a black speck at the top of the ridge. With foot upraised and ears cocked, he watched again for commands. Another wave of the arm and the dog dashed over the ridge and out of sight. Half an hour later an eager bark came from the ridge, and there, slowly toiling through the trees, came the lost sheep, followed by the faithful dog, keeping them moving toward the herd and yet not hurrying them beyond the speed of the lambs. In their lead was the black marker. Once more his ten _negros_ were all there.

The next night from over the mountain-top rolled a great wave of black smoke. The sheep, "bedded down" near the camp, were uneasy and kept sniffing at the heavy air. At daylight the boy pushed them from the bed ground and worked them up toward the mountain-top, where the trees stopped growing and there was little danger of fire reaching them. Leaving the dog to care for the sheep, the boy climbed up higher until he could see about him. On every side was a sea of smoke. Great black billows rolled up from below him and the wind blew a gale from the direction of the other side of the mountain. The _patron_ would be back that night, but until then Pablo must stay where he was, for had he not been told to do so? All day he watched the smoke boiling up about him. The sheep were restless and bunched up in spite of his efforts to get them to scatter out and graze as they should.

In the afternoon he worked his way down the mountainside, below the meadow and, perched on a huge boulder, watched the fire licking its way slowly through the forest. As far as he could see the red line stretched like a fiery snake, but unless the wind changed it would not reach his camp for some time yet.

If only the _patron_ would come and relieve him of this responsibility! All those ewes with their fine lambs grazing there, and depending on him, Pablo, for protection and care. What should he do? He must not leave the camp, and still, if he kept the sheep there and the fire really came to the meadow, they might all die.

Late that evening the wind changed and blew up the cañon like a gale, carrying with it clouds of smoke and burning brands which started fires far in advance of the main line. But the boy stayed with the sheep, wide awake and watchful, hardly taking time to eat his simple meals of _frijoles_, mutton and bread. Below him, the sky was alight with the flames. Now and then a thunderous crash told where some giant of the forest had given up the fight--three hundred and fifty years' work undone in an hour. Half a dozen coyotes and a wildcat skulked out of the timber that fringed the meadow and buried themselves in the little clump of willows that grew about the spring. By midnight he realized that to stay where he was meant death for himself and his woolly charges. The sheep were restless, constantly moving about on the bed ground, the lambs running and bleating through the herd as if they, too, realized the danger. The dog whined and looked anxiously toward the coming light, which now made the night almost as bright as noonday.

"What would'st thou do, Panchito?" said the boy. "Did not the _patron_ tell us to remain here until he came, and yet, shall we stay and die when the fire comes?" Then the thought came to him that up higher on the mountain the sheep would be safe if once there.

At the first sign of coming day he set about his preparations for leaving. First, he tore from its pins the light tent, spread it out on the ground, swept into it the small supply of food which the camp contained, and rolled the tent about it. Then, with a short-handled camp shovel he dug a shallow hole in the soft mountain soil into which he placed, first, the sheepskins and blankets which formed his bed and then the bundle of the tent, covering it all with the dirt, thus securing it from the fire.

Having thus protected his food supply, he sent the dog around the sheep to bunch them up and started them up the mountainside. The sheep, frightened by the smoke and approaching fire, moved rapidly, and inside of half an hour the boy had them all bedded down on a great bare granite field in the middle of a little boulder-strewn valley where, ages ago, some slipping, sliding glacier had smoothed and polished the surface of the rocks until they were like some gigantic table top. The valley was far above timber and the sheep safe from fire.

Leaving the dog to watch the sheep, he hastened back to the meadow, there to await the coming of the _patron_ as he had been bidden. Once upon the prairie, where his father lived, he had seen the men go out to meet an approaching fire and by means of back firing keep it away from the houses and fields.

In the camp was a stick of pitch pine which some one had brought for starting fires. Taking the ax, he quickly split off a handful of splinters, which he bound together with a handy piece of baling wire. Going to the lower end of the meadow toward the fire with his improvised torch, he started a line of small fires, hoping they would spread and thus be some slight protection to the meadow.

The wind favored him, and in a short time he had a wide swath burned clear along one side of the meadow and his fire was eating out into the forest and would keep the flames back some distance.

As the main fire line came along he was smothered with the clouds of smoke and waves of heat which swept down as from a furnace. He stood it as long as he could, fighting back the fire at every point where the flames were eating out into the meadow. Burning brands ate holes in his cotton shirt, and the soles of his "teguas," or rawhide moccasins, were burned through and through. As the mass of fire reached his back-fire line he ran to the little spring in the middle of the meadow and threw himself into it, rolling over and over in the mud and water about it. The coyotes and wildcat that had taken refuge there hardly noticed his presence in the face of the coming danger.

Half an hour or more of stifling smoke and burning heat and he dared to leave his place in the spring. About the meadow some of the trees were burning clear to their tops, and great logs were blazing everywhere, but the force of the fire was spent and had gone on past him and he was left as on an island in midocean.

It was far past noon. Perhaps the _patron_ would come today. He found the shovel and dug up the buried tent with its precious contents and made a hasty meal of bread and meat. Then, taking a piece of the meat for the faithful Pancho, he struck out into the blackened area about him to find the sheep which he had left to the dog's care that morning.

He was very tired and his almost bare feet were badly cut and burned, causing him to stop and rest frequently, but he finally reached the granite ledge, and there found the sheep, with the dog watching their every movement, and woe unto the ewe or venturesome lamb that attempted to wander too far into the valley, for he was at its heels in a minute to drive it back.

That evening, about dark, two men rode into the upper end of the meadow. The face of each was black and grimy with smoke and sweat. Their eyes were red and swollen and their horses so tired they stumbled as they moved. As they came out of the blackened area about the meadow and were able to see across it the man in advance stopped his horse.

"Lord, I do hate to think of leaving that poor little devil up here all alone with them sheep," he said to his companion. "Naturally I hate to think of losing the sheep, but to have him burnt up too is awful."

Suddenly he straightened up in his saddle and rubbed his eyes. "Say, Bill," he called, "is that a bunch of sheep there, or are my eyes fooling me?" Before Bill could reply a dog barked and came racing toward them.

"Well, if it ain't Pancho as I'm a sinner," was the man's delighted cry.

Then the tinkle of a sheep bell reached their ears. They spurred their tired horses into a trot and soon reached the spot where once stood the camp tent. In the dim light they saw a freshly dug hole with a tent lying beside it, upon which was piled a miscellaneous assortment of food and camping utensils, mutely telling the story of how the camp outfit had been saved.

Nearby on a pile of sheep skins and under an old blanket lay a boy sleeping soundly. The eager barking of the dog and the heavy tread of the horses awoke him, and with a start he sprang to his feet. His clothing was a mass of mud, his face so black and tear-stained that it was almost unrecognizable, but the sheepman sprang from his horse and grabbed him in his arms with a strange choking in his throat he could hardly conquer.

"Why, Pablo boy, _muchacho mio_, how did you pull through this hell fire and save yourself and the sheep too?" he asked, patting the dirty cheeks and mud-filled hair.

"The _patron_ told me to stay here till he returned," said the boy, "there are all the sheep, the ten markers, the three _campanas_, and the five _chivos_, that the _patron_ left with me. All are there." The child's eyes glowed with the pride of accomplishment.

"Bill," said the sheepman, "what's that little feller's name what we used to recite about in school, him that did the stunt about standing on the burning deck?"

"You mean Casabianca?"

"That's him, that's the chap. Say, Pablo"--his voice choked and he swallowed hard before the words would come to his lips--"Pablo, you're Casabianca all righty, and then some, for that little feller didn't save his bacon by stayin' where he was tole to. You not only saved yours but twelve hundred of the best ewes and lambs in the state besides. I'll promise you that ole Santa Claus'll bring you somethin' mighty fine next Christmas to pay you for this here job."

THE SHOOTING UP OF HORSE HEAD

By permission _The Argonaut_, San Francisco, Cal.

The town of Horse Head had turned over a new leaf. There was to be no more "shooting up" of the village. Patience ceased to be a virtue when the "Cross J" outfit shipped their last train of steers, and everybody in the gang came into town for a big time, which culminated in a general "shooting up" of the place.

The lights in all the saloons were bored full of holes, the solitary street lamp-post, standing in front of the "Apache House"--and the pride of the heart of the old woman who kept the place--was riddled over and over again, and every woman in town scared into a fit of hysterics. Then the town people rose up in their wrath and called on the marshal to put a stop to it, or resign his office.

Now Jenkins, the marshal, who held the position by virtue of his ability to shoot quick and true, was something of a diplomat. He was not anxious to have a row with any of the boys, if it could be avoided, and he was still further anxious not to lose the confidence of the townspeople, a nominating convention being due before long. Jenkins was a candidate for sheriff on the Democratic ticket, and in Colorado County, a nomination on that ticket was equivalent to an election. Accordingly, being of a diplomatic turn of mind, as aforesaid, he decided that a little scheming on his part might work to his advantage. To this end, he rode down to the little cottonwood "bosque" a few miles below town, where the Cross J outfit was camped, busily engaged in shoeing horses for another trip into the mountains, and overhauling the wagon generally.

The result of his visit was that he was authorized by the guilty "punchers" to enter into negotiations with the town justice, and make some sort of terms with him, based upon their pleading guilty and promising good behavior for the future. All this Jenkins successfully accomplished, and about three o'clock the next afternoon the wily marshal rode into town accompanied by eight or ten of the boys.

Being arraigned before the town barber, who upheld the dignity of the law as justice of the peace, they gravely plead guilty to disturbing the peace and dignity of the place, were fined one dollar and costs each, which they promptly paid, with many promises of future good conduct.

But alas for such promises! "Cow punchers is pore weak critters, shore," old Dad, the cook, used to say; and before sunset that day every last one of them, unmindful of promises or pledges, was again full of enthusiasm and cheap whiskey.

"Tex," the bartender at the "Bucket of Blood," had all their six-shooters behind the bar, and for safety had slyly removed all the cartridges and inserted empty shells in their place.

About sunset the gang started for camp, their weapons returned to them with many warnings from Tex not to shoot until clear out of town. They mounted their ponies and struck out on a dead run down the main street, whooping and yelling like a bunch of coyotes, but carefully refraining from firing a shot. About half a mile below town, however, the white "Yard Limit" sign of the railroad company was too good a mark for the crowd to pass unchallenged. True, the heavy piece of boiler iron, some thirty inches across, was pierced in a hundred places from previous attacks, but a few more wouldn't hurt it, and Baldy Peters, the crack shot of the camp, drew his revolver and, spurring his pony into a dead run, took quick aim at the black spot in the center and pulled the trigger. No answering shot came, and, although he tried all five of the chambers (no true cowboy or frontiersman ever carries six cartridges in his revolver) they were all silent.

Baldy jerked his pony up on its haunches, and carefully examined the cylinder. Sure enough every shell was there, but empty. Jack Gibson, who had followed Baldy, had the same luck, and when the rest came up a general investigation followed. It did not take them long to see that they had been tricked by some one. Their indignation knew no bounds. "Jes to think," said Big Pete, "s'posin' one of us ud a got inter a row, and some blame town galoot had a drawed a gun on him, wouldn't he 'a' been in a fine ole fix to 'a' jerked his 'hog-leg,' and nary a bean in the wheel?"

The more they thought about it the madder they got. Revenge they must have. What its form, they scarcely knew, nor cared. Without more talk, they all reloaded the weapons from their well-filled belts and turned their horses' heads toward town, speculating as they rode along as to just what they would do to show the town of Horse Head the danger of monkeying with a cow puncher's weapons. As they rode, they hatched up a plan, suggested from the fertile brain of Mac, the horse-wrangler, which, they thought, if successfully carried out, would give them the requisite amount of satisfaction for their wounded dignity.

It was on Tex, the bartender, and Jenkins, the town marshal, that they poured out the vials of their wrath. Who else than they would have removed the cartridges from all those cylinders and replaced them with empty shells?

Now, they knew that Tex was the marshal's right-hand man when it came to any trouble, and that, during the shipping season, when the outfits were around town a good deal, each of them kept a horse in the corral back of the "Bucket of Blood," ready for any emergency. Arriving in town, they proceeded to get gloriously full again, while Tex and Jenkins, secure in the knowledge of those empty shells they had placed in their revolvers, enjoyed the fun and allowed them full play.

Along toward ten o'clock the boys drifted down to the only restaurant in Horse Head that kept open all night as well as all day. It was kept by "Chinese Louie," an almond-eyed celestial who ran a store, restaurant, wash-house, and the village photograph gallery, all under one long roof.

Now, when a puncher gets into a restaurant, the only thing he craves is ham and eggs. Of beef he has a surfeit. The menu of the round-up wagon is coffee, bread, and meat three times a day, with awful regularity. Therefore, the gang was soon busy, seated on high stools at the long counter. After they had eaten their fill each wadded up his paper napkin and fired it at the cook, lit a cigar from the case at the end of the counter, and paid his bill.

Then the fun opened by some one pulling a revolver and taking a shot at the big kerosene lamp that hung from the ceiling. In an instant twenty shots were fired; every lamp in the place was out and bored full of holes; the fancy water cooler that sat in the corner was riddled; and the coffee and tea pots on the big range behind the counter, as well as a lot more tempting marks in the way of copper cooking utensils that hung overhead on a rack, were turned into sieves.

Poor Chinese Louie and his assistant lost no time in making themselves scarce; and, after it got too dark, for want of lamp-light, to see to shoot anything more, the now hilarious punchers swaggered out to their ponies, standing quietly at the "snorting post" in front of the restaurant, and with a parting volley up the main street toward the "Bucket of Blood," rode furiously out of town.

Instead of going straight on down the railroad track they turned sharp to the left, at the first corner, and headed for the county bridge which spanned the river at Horse Head, a wooden structure with huge beams overhead, and some six or seven spans long.

Just as they turned the corner out of the main street a couple of shots whistled past the bunch, proving that Tex and the marshal were alive and in pursuit. This was what the boys wanted, and they gave shrill yells of defiance as they pounded through the heavy sand that covered the road to the bridge. They slowed down a little along here to give their pursuers a chance to catch up a little; and when the officers announced their coming, by more shots, some of which came rather close to the bunch of riders, they fired a few in reply, and thundered across the bridge at full speed, in spite of the warning sign that promised all sorts of fines and imprisonment for any one "riding across the bridge faster than a walk."

Along about the center span four of the boys, Baldy Peters, Jack Gibson, Dutch Henry, and Long Jim, dropped from their saddles, their ropes in their hands, and two on each side of the roadway, in the shelter of the huge beams, hastily made loops in their ropes, and awaited the coming of the two men. The rest of the gang clattered across the bridge with shrill whoops, and out on to the hard rocky road beyond, with the four loose horses following them, as if their riders were still on their backs.

Now, the four men on the bridge were the most skillful rope-tossers in all that range. Rope-tossers, instead of swinging the rope around their heads before throwing, spread it out behind and to one side of them, and with a quick, graceful throw, or toss, launch it with unerring aim over the head of the animal at which they throw. This method is used almost entirely in catching horses out of the "cavyyard," and also in catching calves out of a herd, as it is done so quietly and easily that the animal is snared before it has a chance to dodge or move.

Tex and the marshal were not quite so foolhardy or ignorant as to feel that they could capture and arrest the crowd they were after, but the marshal wanted that nomination in the fall, and felt it was a good chance to make a "rep" for himself. Tex was to be his chief deputy, if elected, so he was also eager to do something to prove his valor. Their idea, therefore, was to make a sort of grandstand play, follow the boys out a ways, fire a few shots after them at parting, and come back to town. Hearing them rattle across the bridge and out over the rocky road beyond, they feared no trap or ambush, and so kept riding in their wake, firing a shot every few seconds, as much to show the townspeople what they were up to, as anything else.

As they passed the spot where the four boys were awaiting them, four silent ropes settled down over the heads and shoulders of the luckless officers of the law. Going at full speed as they were, there was no chance to throw off those snakelike coils, and the two riders were jerked backward over their horses' hips and landed heavily upon the hard plank flooring of the bridge.

The marshal's six-shooter went off into the air as he wildly threw up his arms to clear his body of that python-like embrace, while the one Tex held in his hands flew off into space and dropped into the muddy waters below. Both men were stunned by the force of the fall, and lay as if dead on the bridge; but no sooner had they struck than they were promptly covered by the four men.

The avengers first took their small "hogging ropes" (a short piece of rope about six feet long, which every well regulated puncher carries, either in his saddle pocket, or around his waist, to be used in tying together the feet of any cow or steer he might have to tie down on the ranges), and secured their prisoners' wrists firmly behind their backs; then they took a lariat rope and wound it round and round the men's bodies from shoulders to heels, so that moving their feet or arms was an impossibility. To do this was not hard, for both men were stunned from their fearful fall, and lay like logs, while the boys worked on them.

The end of another lariat was passed through under their arms, around the body, and tied in a "bow-line hitch" behind the back. The two luckless officers were by this time regaining consciousness, and began to curse and struggle, but to no avail. At first they feared they were to be hung, and begged for their lives like good fellows; but as they were swung off the edge of the bridge and found how they were lashed with ropes, they pleaded even more fervently, for it looked as if the boys meant to drown them like rats in a cage. All to no avail. The boys never answered a word, but went ahead with their work, in the most matter-of-fact way imaginable. The ropes, tied as they were, suspended the men by the arms in such a way that they hung fairly upright, and without any particular pain or suffering from them.

Now, the water of the Puerco is about as vile-smelling and oleaginous stuff as any one ever saw, tasted, or smelled; indeed, the offensiveness of the water suggested the name of the river--"Nasty." Especially in time of floods does it deserve its name. The water then is more like thin gruel of a yellowish red color, and smells to Heaven. Into this mess the conspirators slowly lowered the two officers of the law, regardless of their prayers, entreaties, threats, or curses, of which each of the two men poured out a liberal supply in tones to wake the dead.

A turn of the rope about one of the bridge rods served to check the speed of their descent, and while Baldy Peters got over the railing and down on to the stone abutment, that he might the better see how far to lower the men, the rest held onto the ropes and let them down.

Baldy, crouching low on the abutment, peered down into the darkness and gave orders for the work, so that when the two ropes were tied to a rod, each man was swinging in the water breast deep. He clambered back onto the bridge, and the four punchers hastened out into the darkness after the rest of the gang, who were waiting for them not far off.

The next morning about daybreak, four horsemen rode out of the camp and headed for the New Mexico line, across which they felt themselves reasonably safe; for they well knew that the marshal would never follow and bring them back to relate in court the way they outwitted him and Tex. All they feared was that he would take a shot at them the first time he got sight of them, as he certainly would have done had he ever "met up with" either of the guilty four.

The boys were "drifters," anyhow, as much at home in one place as another, and good hands were always in demand on the ranches in those days, so it mattered little where they brought up.

As for the marshal and Tex, their first impression was that they were to be lynched; then they thought that they were to drown, which was even worse; finally, however, when they realized what the boys really meant to do, their rage knew no bounds. The marshal would almost have preferred to be hung, for he quickly foresaw that when they were rescued, the ridicule the affair would cause throughout the county would everlastingly kill his chances for any office. Had they been hung, or even drowned, they would have been heroes, even though dead ones; but this trick would turn a laugh against them as long as they lived.

Luckily for the two unfortunates, right below the place from which they were lowered, instead of the river running in its regular channel, there was a great eddy, or swirl, where the water had cut a deep hole in the sandy river bed. Here the water was quite deep and had but little movement, except a slow circling motion. In this they swung at anchor, from midnight until broad daylight. The water caused the ropes to shrink and draw until they suffered a great deal where they cut into their wrists, making it an utter impossibility for them to untie the knots, although they worked diligently trying to get them loose in some way. The water was cold and their limbs soon became so numb that they could hardly move either hands or legs. They wore their voices out calling for help.

The boys, in lowering them down, had been cunning enough to fasten them far enough apart so they could not aid each other to get loose, and while from the motion of the water they occasionally bumped against one another, they quickly drifted apart, as helpless as if in two strait-jackets.

About sunrise, a Mormon boy, belonging to a freighter outfit, which was camped over in town, going out after the horses which had been taken across the river the night before to graze, came whistling down the road to the bridge, and started to cross. As soon as his footfalls were heard on the flooring of the structure, the almost helpless men below roused and began to call as loudly as they were able with their numb lips and jaws chattering like castanets. It took him a minute or two to locate the voices.

The lad took one hasty look over the railing of the bridge, and, with a shriek of horror, fled toward town as fast as his feet could carry him. Here he told the first man he met that he had seen two bodies hanging to the bridge, and a crowd was soon on the way to the river, expecting to find the results of a vigilance committee suspended from the stringers.

The two men were quickly pulled up on to the bridge and the ropes that bound them like steel bands were cut from their bodies. Both men were so stiff that they had to be carried to town, and the doctor and several men worked over them for more than an hour trying to restore the circulation in their stiffened limbs and almost frozen bodies. The story of their capture set the whole town to laughing, and the more people laughed, the more ridiculous the happening grew. Nor did it lose anything in the telling and soon the entire county was also laughing over the misfortunes of the two peace officers. Jenkins' chief political opponent naturally made the most of it and under such conditions that gentleman was literally laughed into political obscurity.

About that time the Wells-Fargo Express Company feared a hold-up on the railroad, and Jenkins and Tex, glad to leave the scene of their water-cure adventure, secured positions as guards and soon dropped out of polite society in Horse Head as represented by the gang around the "Bucket of Blood" and its immediate vicinity.

The next time they came to town the "Cross J" boys chipped in a dollar each and gave it to old "Dad," the cook, counted the luckiest "wheel" player in the bunch, who took the coin and with a burst of good luck soon ran it up to something over a hundred dollars at the roulette wheel. This entire amount he gave to Jackson the wagon boss, who went down to Chinese Louie's place, and poured it out on the counter before the heathen's astonished eyes, as a peace offering from the "shoot 'em up" crowd that had wrecked his place.

That night about midnight Louie and his assistant set out to the boys the very swellest "feed" his culinary abilities could prepare, and the affair of the shooting up of Horse Head and the putting of the marshal and his aid-de-camp to soak under the bridge in the cold nasty waters of the Rio Puerco was thus amicably settled over the viands that the Chinaman furnished.

Transcriber's notes:

The following is a list of changes made to the original.
The first line is the original line, the second the corrected one.

she's a-grazin' and' it's a sure shot the calf's hid away in
she's a-grazin' an' it's a sure shot the calf's hid away in

It was the end of the road for the blue roan.
It was the end of the road for the blue-roan.

like videttes on guard over the canon.
like videttes on guard over the cañon.

deep box canons impassable for miles.
deep box cañons impassable for miles.

It brought very man in camp to his feet, for high above
It brought every man in camp to his feet, for high above

the Little Colorado River 'bout the mouth of the Canon
the Little Colorado River 'bout the mouth of the Cañon

"I'll never miss them spurs, said Bob pointing to an
"I'll never miss them spurs," said Bob pointing to an

steer round up" he asked of the new comer.
steer round up?" he asked of the newcomer.

burst from my eager lips."
burst from my eager lips.

I sent one of the boys back with the hoss, an tole him to
I sent one of the boys back with the hoss, an' tole him to

"Then the captain he sort of grins an' sez. 'That's
"Then the captain he sort of grins an' sez, 'That's

Then the captain, he bein' a fine old sojer man, with
"Then the captain, he bein' a fine old sojer man, with

iver seen in all his life. 'Twas sure no fault wid thim steers
iver seen in all his life. ''Twas sure no fault wid thim steers

of the Stars and' Stripes a-flyin' overhead. I was busy
of the Stars an' Stripes a-flyin' overhead. I was busy

End of Project Gutenberg's Tales from the X-bar Horse Camp, by Will C. Barnes