# Patches (Hawkes)/Chapter 5

EARLY in September the autumn round-up on the Crooked Creek Ranch was set in motion. Once more the parada of the ranch was marshalled on the lower plateau and the cattle were fed, a thousand at a time, into Piñon Valley. Here the spring and summer calves were branded while the beef cattle were cut out and driven to the home ranch. The beef cattle comprised the four year old steers and the barren cows. It was found when the round-up was finished that there were about a thousand beef cattle. This herd was turned into the cultivated lots on the home ranch where the rowen was knee high. They fell upon it with great zest and under these conditions put on flesh rapidly. They ate and ate of the green grass until they could eat no more and then rested only to eat again. So by the middle of November the cattle were in fine condition and ready for market.
Then it was that Hank Brodie made preparations for the drive to Wyanne. Saddles, bridles, and ponies were inspected and ten of the best cow-punchers selected for the trip.
​When such old timers as Big Bill, Long Tom, and Pony saw these preparations going forward they became very mellow and reminiscent. Once again they recalled the days of long drives on the Santa Fe trail and of the handling of large herds of cattle on the Panhandle.
"Gosh almighty," said Big Bill, "this here country is getting too darn sophisticated for me. This here one day stand riding is too easy. It is too much like a woman's party with pink tea and drop the handkerchief. It ain't strenuous enough for your Uncle Bill. Why, in the old days there were Apaches on your trail, and rustlers rustling every thing you had, and the herd stampeding, and the devil to pay. Gosh, them was the days."
So, on a crisp autumn morning in the middle of November the herd of beef cattle were marshalled on the polo grounds. Two cow-punchers went at the head of the procession, not immediately in front of the cattle but on the sides. They were to steer the head of this great dragon as it crawled along the trail to Wyanne. One hundred yards further down the cavalcade were two more cow-punchers, and still another hundred further on another pair, with two others bringing up the rear. A large express wagon filled with camp blankets, a camp stove, and provisions followed behind.
For the first two days the trail led over adjacent ​ranches and here they had to be careful that other cattle were not drawn into their own herd. Barways also had to be taken down and then put back again. Each day toward sundown a large open field had to be discovered and the cattle turned into it for the night. Here the cow-punchers rode round and round the herd until they had them moving around in a great circle. Little by little this motion lessened until finally the herd was at rest and they were ready for the night. Then the express wagon came up, the tents were pitched, the camp fire was built, and the cow-punchers prepared to eat a hearty evening meal. Whatever they had eaten thus far during the day since breakfast had been taken in the saddle.
It must not be supposed, however, that the herd was left unguarded during the night, for four cow-punchers were on guard, each with a shift of four hours. They rode round and round the herd continually and as they went they sang the cattle songs of the cowboys, those picturesque folk songs which have come down to us from the ranges of by-gone days.
supper. Soon the aroma of frying eggs and bacon filled the air and presently the cow-punchers were eating in relays. And it seemed that their appetites were never quite so good as when they ate out in the open.
After supper those not on guard of the herd would gather around the fire and then it was that they grew mellow and would spin many yarns of the old days, of the cattle trails of long ago.
"Did I ever tell you gents about me and Little Al?" inquired Big Bill, the first night as the cow-punchers stretched out around the camp fire.
​"Can't say as you hey, Bill," said Long Tom, winking at Larry and poking Pony Perkins in the ribs. They had all heard this story many times but whenever Bill offered to tell it, with accommodating memories they did not seem to remember.
"Well," said Bill, lighting a fresh cigarette, "It was this here way. I never knew where Little Al came from, he jest popped up one morning in camp. His real name was Alsandra Gonzales but I allus called him Little Al and he called me Uncle Bill. It was strange how we took to each other, seems as though I had knowed him allus when I had only seen him for a day or two.
"He was probably about twelve years old but he wan't bigger'n a pint of cider. He usen to ride on the pommel of my saddle in front of me and after a spell I got lonesome if he wan't a-perching there.
"But this here time I'm telling you about was after we'd knowed each other about a month. We had gone up into New Mexico to drive a part of our herd down onto the Panhandle. It was mighty dry that summer and water was scurse'n than hens' teeth. This night I'm telling you about, it seemed as though the entire Panhandle was as dry as a desert. The cattle hadn't had much of any water for two days and they was as restless as fleas and as uneasy as bees jest before swarming time. Finally on this here night we got them calmed ​down and ready for the night. We was located in a broad valley but jest below us it narrowed up sudden.
"It had been sort of sultry all day and I didn't like the looks of things. Me and Little Al was on guard with five others. We had six thousand cattle in the bunch. Pretty soon I began to notice lightning way off in the sky to the north but there wan't much thunder. I thought it was gonna go round us when all of a sudden the sky seemed to split wide open and there came a thunder clap like the crack of doom. Well, that was enough for the cattle. They was all on edge anyhow and every blasted one of them leaped to their feet. Some of them began bellowing and then the whole bunch stampeded. Almost before I knowed it, me and Little Al was surrounded on three sides with madly rushing cattle. Al seemed to sense our danger before I did.
"'Senor,' he said, 'there isn't but one thing you can do, shoot old Mule-ears and then lie down behind him.'
"Al, says I, me and Mule-ears has been jogging along for quite a spell together and I ain't going to desert him now. Then I thought I felt something a-fumbling at my holster and the next thing I knowed my .45 cracked twice jest in front of my left knee. Little Al had reached over and got my gun and plugged old Mule-ears through the heart. He took two or three faltering jumps and then fell. I guess I must have been ​stunned for the next thing I remembered I was lying up close to something and something else was on top of me. I opened my eyes and looked around. There wan't a steer in sight. I was lying on the ground close up to my hoss and Little Al was lying on top of me. Half of his ribs was broken and he was terribly battered. He had layed above my head and sheltered me. I was so stiff and bruised myself I could hardly get up but Little Al was dead.
"He was the only greaser that I ever saw that I didn't hate worse'n than the devil hates holy water but I really did love Little Al."
Rounded up in Glory
* I've been thinking today, as my thought began to stray, Of your memory to me worth more than gold. As I ride across the plain, mid the sunshine and the rain You'll be rounded up in glory bye and bye. Chorus You'll be rounded up in glory bye and bye, You'll be rounded up in glory bye and bye, When the milling time is o'er, And you'll stampede no more, When He rounds you up, within the Master's fold.
* May we lift our voices high, to that sweet bye and bye, And be known by the brand of the Lord; For His property we are, and He'll know us from afar, When He rounds us up in glory, bye and bye. Chorus You'll be rounded up in glory bye and bye, You'll be rounded up in glory bye and bye, When the milling time is o'er, And you'll stampede no more, When He rounds you up, within the Master's fold.
A Home on the Range
* Oh, give me a home where the buffalo roam,  Where the deer and and the antelope play, Where seldom is heard a discouraging word,  And the skies are not cloudy all day. Chorus Home, home on the range, Where the deer and the antelope play, Where seldom is heard a discouraging word, And the skies are not cloudy all day.
* Where the air is so pure, the zephyrs so free,  The breezes so balmy and light, For I would not exchange my home on the range  For all of the cities so bright. Chorus Home, home on the range, Where the deer and the antelope play, Where seldom is heard a discouraging word, And the skies are not cloudy all day.
It did not seem to Larry that he had been sleeping five minutes when he was aroused by his uncle shaking him by the shoulder.
"Come on, son," he said, "it is our watch."
So Larry crawled reluctantly out of his warm blankets and he and his uncle and one other cow-puncher went to saddle their horses, and a few minutes later they relieved the other watch.
"You see," explained Uncle Henry, "we ride up and down around the herd, forty or fifty feet away from the cattle, just close enough to watch them and at the same time not to disturb them. You can sing if you want to, that will help to keep up your spirits. About this time of night the cattle are usually pretty quiet but two or three hours later they will get restless and begin to mill about. The two hours before daylight are the most dangerous period of the entire night watch, but everything is going to be all right to-night."
So Larry and Patches began their night vigil going up and down, while Larry sang to the cattle. He did not know many of the cattle songs so his repertoire was soon exhausted but he filled in with such old favorites ​as Seeing Nellie Home, Just Before. The Battle, and Swanee River. It was very dark as the moon had set and the sky was overcast, but Patches seemed to know what was expected of him and he walked steadily up and down the quiet beat. Every ten minutes Larry would meet his uncle at the end of his beat. Then they would exchange salutations and turn their horses about and go over the beat again.
It seemed to Larry that the hours were endless. Would his watch never cease? But after what seemed to him to be the whole night the first gray shimmer of light appeared in the East. Even before this warning of the coming day some of the cattle had been up and stirring about. Several times he had had to drive these restless ones back into the herd for the orders were to keep them closely bunched until daylight.
Finally the gray streak in the East warmed into the crimson telling of the birth of a new day, then the rosy tints grew brighter and brighter and finally Old Sol peeked up over the rim of the eastern hills and the new day had really come; Larry and Patches were certainly glad to see it.
Soon they were back at the camp fire which was now burning brightly for one of the cow-punchers was getting breakfast. It seemed to Larry that fried sausages and hard-tack dipped in hot coffee tasted better than any beefsteak breakfast he had ever eaten in ​his whole life. The cowboys ate in relays, so by eight o'clock the cavalcade once more formed and the long day's march began.
By noon the old cattle trail which they had been following emerged into the travelled highway, or wagon trail as they called it, and they were out on the open Prairies, in the land of the purple sage, where the land had been homesteaded and broken up into sections, quarter-sections, and half-sections. Here the wagon trail was sixty-six feet wide with a fence on either side. This helped the cow-punchers for the task of keeping the cattle bunched was now greatly lessened, but it also added to their difficulties for often they encountered horseback riders, buckboards, and lumber wagons and all of these greatly impeded the movement of the herd. But they kept patiently plodding along and by twilight had covered fifteen miles.
They found just the right spot, a quarter-section of sage brush, a lot which no homesteader had cared to preëmpt. So here the herd was brought to rest and once again the camp fire burned brightly. The cow-punchers ate in relays and then went to the night watch.
By noon of the third day of the drive the weather had changed suddenly, the clear crisp air had been succeeded by a warm balmy breeze. It was as sudden as that in the springtime when Chinook breathes over the ​landscape and in a few hours drives winter back and announces that spring has come.
So now the autumn time was driven back and the temperature of summer prevailed. The landscape was diffused with a soft blue haze which told plainly that a wonderful spell of Indian summer had come.
Larry greeted this change of weather with delight. The mornings had been so frosty and the nights so cold and chilly that it was a relief to turn back to summer conditions. But when he remarked upon this fact to his brother cow-punchers as they jogged along beside the herd he got only a disgruntled answer.
That evening as they ate by the cheerful camp fire it seemed to Larry that a sudden depression had come over the cow-punchers, even such jovial spirits as Big Bill and Pony Perkins seemed subdued. It was inexplicable to Larry, so he finally asked them what was the matter.
"What's got into you boys, Uncle Bill?" he said between two gulps of hot tea. "You all act as dumb as oysters. Anybody would think this was a funeral procession instead of a jolly cattle drive."
"Wal," returned Bill scanning the sky carefully in every direction, "I dunno, perhaps everything's all right. We won't cross any bridges until we come to them, but I don't like this darn hot weather. It ain't ​seasonable and when it tunes up in this way we're always sure to catch something."
"Why, I think it's just great," returned Larry. "We won't have to have any camp fire to sleep by to-night."
"Wal, perhaps you're right," returned Bill, "I hope so."
A few minutes later Larry's three friends went to take up their night watch while he rolled up in his blankets to sleep.
In what seemed an incredibly short time his uncle was shaking him by the shoulder telling him to get up as it was their watch.
"I don't like the feel of things," remarked Uncle Henry as they jogged around to their position. "Perhaps it's going to be all right but it is terribly sultry and I wish it was twenty degrees cooler."
It was much darker this night then it had been the nights previous so Larry gave Patches his head most of the way. About all he could do was to keep him close up to the herd and this he was able to do by the sound of the milling cattle.
As the hours wore on, it grew darker and darker and still more muggy, and though it was strangely still sound seemed to carry a long way. He could distinctly hear the sound of Old Baldy's hoofs fifty rods away as his uncle rode up and down the line.
It must have been about five o'clock, the danger ​hour to a sleeping herd, when Larry noticed far off on the western horizon fitful flashes of lightning and then distant thunder. As the last peal died away he heard his uncle's .45 crack twice. This was the signal in the camp, should they happen to hear it, for all of the force to mount and stand ready for whatever might happen.
But the distant lightning became brighter and brighter and the thunder more pronounced and Larry could hear the cattle stirring uneasily. Then the same thing happened that he remembered having heard Big Bill describe the first night as they sat about the camp fire listening to his yarn of Little Al. For without an instant's warning the heavens seemed to crack wide open; for a hundred-thousandth part of a second it was as bright as day. He could see the great herd of cattle, some lying down and some standing. He could see distant trees and bushes, and then as suddenly as it had come this light went out and it was followed by a peal of thunder like the crack of doom.
As by a common impulse this brought the cattle to their feet in great alarm and here and there was heard a frenzied bellow. Then again there was that strange lurid light, a great crack in the heavens, and a peal of thunder that was fairly deafening. That was enough for the now nearly frenzied herd and with one accord the entire thousand cattle bolted, with heads down, tails up, and utter terror in the mind of each.
​Larry's first impulse when he saw this terrible manifestation of the herd was to turn Patches in the opposite direction and ride as far away from this thundering monster as possible. But this was only for an instant, then the code and spirit of the cowboy asserted itself. He knew that the cow-puncher was a soldier and his post of duty was the night watch; his first duty was to his employer and his second consideration was for his own life and limbs. He remembered also that this herd of cattle was under the special guardianship of his uncle; his uncle was responsible for tens of thousands of dollars; this uncle who had done so much for him. He would not fail him now. So, as the herd, one thousand strong, racing madly they knew not where, rushed off in the darkness, Larry reined Patches in as close to the herd as he dared and galloped by the side of the frenzied cattle.
But as Patches raced through the darkness, picking his own way, a terrible fear seized Larry. Where were they going? What was ahead of them? What would the next jump bring forth? Was the way clear or would they plunge into some gorge or flounder in some morass? But in this dilemma he was entirely helpless and could merely give Patches his head and trust to the fine horse's splendid instinct to carry them safely through this terrible crisis.
Again Larry heard his uncle's revolver crack three ​times and he knew this was the signal by which he wanted to locate the rest of the cow-punchers, so Larry answered with three quick shots.
But he had barely replaced the revolver in the holster when Patches seemed to pause for a moment in his flight and Larry felt the horse's muscles grow tense beneath him. Then without warning the horn of his saddle shot up and struck Larry a stinging blow in the breast and at the same time the back of Patches' neck hit him in the face. For a moment they seemed to hang in mid-air and then Patches came down to earth with a loud slap of his hind feet, and the strange maneuver was plain to Larry. They had jumped a high fence. How in the world, in total darkness and trayelling at the time at a gallop, had the splendid horse seen this obstacle in time to save both of their lives?
But the cattle were not so fortunate. They did not possess the night eyes and instinct of Patches and they went crashing into the fence like an avalanche. Crash, smash, crash went the poles and Larry could hear the sound of breaking stakes and fence poles for a hundred yards down the line to his left. This sound was interspersed with the bellows of terrified cattle and the groans of those who had been injured. But there was no time to stop and see what it all meant for the herd leveled the fence as a cyclone would have done and swept on through the darkness. A minute or two
​later Patches stumbled and nearly pitched Larry out of the saddle, only his desperate clinging to the saddle horn saved him. It had been a badger hole that had nearly brought horse and rider to earth, but they just escaped and Patches galloped on. Minutes seemed like hours and with each rod that they covered the horror of this headlong flight through the inky night grew upon Larry.
Presently Patches paused again for a second in his mad gallop and the next thing Larry knew they were sliding down a steep embankment, the horse sliding on his haunches with his fore-legs thrust out in front of him. Larry could hear the sliding of sand and gravel and soon they were at the bottom of a gulch. In less time than it takes to tell they were scrambling up the farther side.
But here again the cattle did not fare as well as horse and rider and Larry heard them as they fell into the bottom of the gulch. One, two, a half dozen, and a dozen, but still the mad flight of the terrified herd swept on.
At this point Larry noticed that Patches was pulling off to the right and away from the herd, so he pulled him sharply to the left and once again galloped alongside. It seemed to him that the pace of the maddened cattle was slackening, or was it his frantic hope that tried to realize this cheering sign?
​He had begun to think that possibly the worst of the flight was over when Patches plunged into a fringe of bushes and once again they began sliding down a steep bank. After forty or fifty feet had been covered Patches gave a great leap and the next instant water splashed up into Larry's face and the horse sank to his middle in a swift-moving current.
Larry's first thought was that they were lost, but Patches was equal to the situation for as soon as the water became deep he began swimming leisurely. Then came another illuminating flash from the heavens and Larry saw to his consternation that they were swimming in a great river. A score of cattle were swimming in the river near him while hundreds of others were huddled on the bank nearby. But a greater part of the herd had been turned by the river and most of the mad procession were sweeping upstream.
Another blinding flash a minute later revealed his uncle upon Old Baldy swimming in the river nearby.
"Thank God you're safe, boy," cried Uncle Henry. "I guess we've had the worst of it. This is the La Platte river and it has turned the stampede. I guess we will be able to stop them now. You make your way ashore as soon as you can but be very careful and don't get into quicksand. Give Patches his head."
So Larry turned Patches about and guided him to the shore. When they were about thirty feet from the ​bank, to his surprise Patches snorted and began backing water, and Larry headed him downstream. Here he again evinced fear, so Larry tried still another spot. Here Patches found good footing and soon they were on terra firma. Then Larry and the faithful horse climbed back through the bushes where he was soon joined by his uncle. Torrents of rain now began to fall and the lightning ceased, and as the cow-punchers said "they had weathered the storm" although it seemed to Larry that they were in the midst of the very worst of it.
Soon the cowboys kindled small camp fires around the frightened herd, then began co-ordinating and quieting down the cattle. Half an hour later daylight came and then they went to look for the stragglers.
Larry found the place where he and Patches had cleared a six-foot pole fence. Here they found half a dozen cattle; three of them with broken legs, one punctured by a stake, and two dead. At the gulch where he and Patches had passed over in safety a dozen more cattle had succumbed, while in the river they had lost nearly twenty, part of these had been drowned in the swift current and the rest caught in the quicksand which Patches had avoided through his wild horse sagacity.
Altogether they had lost thirty-five head of cattle but some of these were partly salvaged by shooting ​them and selling them to the local farmers for beef. It took the better part of that day to get the herd once more in travelling condition, but by the middle of the afternoon they were on the way again.
Three days later the little cavalcade trekked into Wyanne and the cattle were safely coralled in the shipping pens at the freight yards. Then Hank Brodie received a receipt for the entire herd with the exception of the thirty-five cattle which had been lost in the stampede. They were a tired though happy lot. They had seen hardship and danger, and they had met both like men, and for this time the long, long trail had come to an end.