Wichita eagle., 1890-02-04
z:aii9 gayle
THE COWBOYS LAST RIDE
AN INCIDENT OF-lIFE IN THE WILD
DAYS OF THE, GREAT WEST.

Jen Dason Saved the Horses-Dashine
Bare Back and Almost Naked Through
the Ranks of Murderous Apaches and
Bringing His Herd Safe to the Ranch.
If In those days any of the boys had
been asked to pick out the coolest and
bravest member of our wild, woolly
gang, almost any one would have been
selected before jeff Dason Gentle,
smooth voiced, freckle faced and red
headed, our horse wrangler was chiefly
remarkable for his love of the caballada
(horse herD over which he had charge.
Every morning sunrise saw JEFF swing
to his saddle and drive the band to Cajou
canyon, and sunset saw them rolling the
dust back to the big corrals. 1t was only
five miles to Cajou, but the Apaches had
raided the ranch itself, and Jeff's posi-
ton was no sinecure. So it was that
one glorious August morning, just as
the sun came blinking lazily up over
the great eastern plains, JEFF and the
band started for the grazing ground.
In among the nnesquites few daunt-
less songsters were protesting against
another day of Arizona sun, and the
earth was trying to smile in spite of the
fact that another fourteen hours of sti-
fling, gasping hea twas at hand. Across
the broad, white, alkaii fiat swung the
band, raising great lazy clouds of the
pungent dust, and finally rounded the
canyon point, out of sight. 1t was cool in
Cajou, for the cedar-crowned rock walls
were untouched by the sun kiss yet, and
the fragrant breath of restful night
stilf fingered lovingly over the green
grass carpet and along the redrock walls.
The forenoon passed like other fore
moons with jeff, the horses drank, graz
ed or lay down, while their watcher
played mumbletypeg, or gambled with
four pebbles against an imaginary OPP
ponent for fabulous sums, or dozed with
his hand Oh his horses picket rope.
About 2 o'clock jeff discovered some
pinion trees on top of the canyon walls,
and tying old 'Bonapart" to a mesquite,
proceeded to investigate the condition of
the nuts. 1t was hard climb, but after
be had reached the top and found the
pinions would be sticky for month to
come, he lay down to gaze on the long,
level stretch of plain below.
APACHEs ON THE TRAIL.
Perhaps he lay thus fifteen or twenty
minutes, when he saw something that
brought him to his feet, wide awake
Off to the southwest, about two miles
away from the mouth of Cajou, came
five mounted Apaches, riding slowly
toward him. With beating heart jeff
watched them until the point hid them
from view, saw them come in sight
again at the broad mouth of the canyon,
watched them as they stopped and ex-
amined his horses tracks, and noted two
dismount and start up the rocky point
afoot and the others start across to take
station at the mouth and turn the horses
when they came down away from the
ranch. Then he started down the bluff,
slipping, sliding, jumping and clinging,
until he reached the meadow below,
bruised and painting, but resolute. To
escape without his ponies was not to be
thought of. The Apaches stationed be
low will finish the stampede that the
two creeping up will attempt. But they
shouldn't have his beauties, his pets,
every one of whom seemed doubly dear
Just then.
Had he not broken many of them, and
did he not know the faults and virtues Of
every woolly scamp among them, and
was there one in the lot that should be
ridden, beaten, starved or saddle CALLED
by those red devils? No! No! Better
death twice over than that they be thus
abused With quivering lip and sobbing
breath he draws old ''Bony" close to the
wall and with trembling hand loosens
the cinchaS, throws the saddle into rift |
of the canyon wall, and stripping off all
clothing save drawers, shirt and stock |
ings, hurls them after the saddle. Slip |
ping the bride on "Bony" and throwing
a double blanket over his sharp back, he |
slides six or eight cartridges from his
belt, catches up the revolver and stands |
waiting. Presently Broncho Duke raises
his head from the grass and shifts the air |
Buspiciously, then with wild snort and |
a nervous stamp of his forefoot he is off |
down the canyon with the band close fol-
lowing.
THE RACE FOR THE RANCH.
Right behind them are jeff and Bony-
part, the old war horse, with nose high |
in the air. chatting under the close rein.
Has he not won many close race, and
why should his young rider strip and ride
with only blanket unless he meant to
show these young upstart colts that old /
Bony was chief still. So they race down
the canyon, splashing through the seep
age pools, rattling over the pebbly drifts,
swishing through the sage and mesquite
bottoms, and whirl from the canyons
mouth like bounding powders. A start
ling yell from the waiting Apaches, and
jeff tightens his grip and digs his bare
heels in Bonys fanks as the watchers
sweep out toward the band. The horses
snort and shy. but the old racer is stretch