The Untamed: Range Life in the SouthwestPattullo, George
General
The Untamed: Range Life in the Southwest
Pattullo, George
Animals -- Fiction; Short stories, Canadian
Apparently this speculation was likewise a source of worry to the cows
and steers, though they all had been through much the same before. Yet,
for the most part, they went soberly, falling into the semblance of a
trail-herd as their ranks were swelled by others which the cowboys
roused up; but there were some that did not. Occasionally a heifer would
make a break to one side, only to be headed off; and once a cow, driven
too impetuously, jerked her head sideways and bowed her tail. She was
“on the prod,” and they let her go. Time after time, when the
red-and-white would turn about to gaze, a rider would come at him,
slapping his boot with his quirt and whistling. This constant
surveillance irritated Come-a-Seven.
Their ranks were swelling so fast, too, that his identity, and hence his
sense of security, was lost. Another influx of cattle caused him to
carom off his mother’s side and in puerile anger he butted at those
nearest, until he observed he was making no impression, when,
discouraged, he gave it up and moved along. His tiny troubles were
submerged in that great army. Two thousand cattle were converging upon a
plain, from nine points in an area five miles wide.
Come-a-Seven was almost too interested to be scared.
Clouds of dust welling up; a babel of sound; mighty roarings of irate
bulls, petty monarchs now on a common footing they resented; the lowing
of cows and the frightened bawling of the calves; and always a
bewildering churning and shifting like a maelstrom. Every few minutes a
stream of dirt would shoot skyward like a geyser, where a bull was
spoiling for a fight and sent his thundering challenge over the ranks.
Occasionally there was a clash and some desperate attempts at goring.
Holding this host on the round-up ground was a cordon of eight punchers,
sitting apathetically on their horses. They had little to do while their
companions worked the herd, cutting out the cows and calves to one side,
the strays and beef cattle to another. Sometimes an animal would wander
to the edge, stand staring uncertainly, then saunter forth to attain the
open; but most were driven back without trouble. One persisted and gave
a herder a furious dash to head him off; but that was all part of the
day’s work.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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