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."He tied them in a little log pen near the cabin and whipped them soundly.AndPage 36ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.htmlthe next few days, while Wallace and I rested, he took them out separately anddeliberately ran them over coyote and deer trails.Sometimes we heard hisstentorian yell as a forerunner to the blast from his old shotgun.Then againwe heard the shots unheralded by the yell.Wallace and I waxed warm under thecollar over this peculiar method of training dogs, and each of us made direthreats.But in justice to their implacable trainer, the dogs never appearedto be hurt; never a spot of blood flecked their glossy coats, nor did theyever come home limping.Sounder grew wise, and Don gave up, but Moze appearednot to change."All hands ready to rustle," sang out Frank one morning."Old Baldy's got tobe shod."This brought us all, except Jones, out of the cabin, to see the object ofFrank's anxiety tied to a nearby oak.At first I failed to recognize OldBaldy.Vanished was the slow, sleepy, apathetic manner that had characterizedhim; his ears lay back on his head; fire flashed from his eyes.When Frankthrew down a kit-bag, which emitted a metallic clanking, Old Baldy sat back onhis haunches, planted his forefeet deep in the ground and plainly as a horsecould speak, said "No!""Sometimes he's bad, and sometimes worse," growled Frank."Shore he's plumb bad this mornin'," replied Jim.Frank got the three of us to hold Baldy's head and pull him up, then heventured to lift a hind foot over his line.Old Baldy straightened out his legand sent Frank sprawling into the dirt.Twice again Frank patiently tried tohold a hind leg, with the same result; and then he lifted a forefoot.Baldyuttered a very intelligible snort, bit through Wallace's.glove, yanked Jimoff his feet, and scared me so that I let go his forelock.Then he broke therope which held him to the tree.There was a plunge, a scattering of men,though Jim still valiantly held on to Baldy's head, and a thrashing of scrubpinyon, where Baldy reached out vigorously with his hind feet.But for Jim, hewould have escaped."What's all the row?" called Jones from the cabin.Then from the door, takingin the situation, he yelled: "Hold on, Jim! Pull down on the ornery oldcayuse!"He leaped into action with a lasso in each hand, one whirling round his head.The slender rope straightened with a whiz and whipped round Baldy's legs as hekicked viciously.Jones pulled it tight, then fastened it with nimble fingersto the tree."Let go! let go! Jim!" he yelled, whirling the other lasso.The loop flashedand fell over Baldy's head and tightened round his neck.Jones threw all theweight of his burly form on the lariat, and Baldy crashed to the ground,rolled, tussled, screamed, and then lay on his back, kicking the air withthree free legs."Hold this," ordered Jones, giving the tight rope to Frank.Whereupon he grabbed my lasso from the saddle, roped Baldy's two forefeet, andpulled him down on his side.This lasso he fastened to a scrub cedar."He's chokin'!" said Frank."Likely he is," replied Jones shortly."It'll do him good." But with his bighands he drew the coil loose and slipped it down over Baldy's nose, where hetightened it again."Now, go ahead," he said, taking the rope from Frank.Page 37ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.htmlIt had all been done in a twinkling.Baldy lay there groaning and helpless,and when Frank once again took hold of the wicked leg, he was almost passive.When the shoeing operation had been neatly and quickly attended to and Baldyreleased from his uncomfortable position he struggled to his feet with heavybreaths, shook himself, and looked at his master."How'd you like being hog-tied?" queried his conqueror, rubbing Baldy's nose."Now, after this you'll have some manners."Old Baldy seemed to understand, for he looked sheepish, and lapsed once moreinto his listless, lazy unconcern."Where's Jim's old cayuse, the pack-horse?" asked our leader."Lost.Couldn't find him this morning, an' had a deuce of a time findin' therest of the bunch.Old Baldy was cute.He hid in a bunch of pinyons an' stoodquiet so his bell wouldn't ring.I had to trail him.""Do the horses stray far when they are hobbled?" inquired Wallace."If they keep jumpin' all night they can cover some territory.We're now onthe edge of the wild horse country, and our nags know this as well as we.Theysmell the mustangs, an' would break their necks to get away.Satan and thesorrel were ten miles from camp when I found them this mornin'.An' Jim'scayuse went farther, an' we never will get him.He'll wear his hobbles out,then away with the wild horses.Once with them, he'll never be caught again."On the sixth day of our stay at Oak we had visitors, whom Frank introduced asthe Stewart brothers and Lawson, wild-horse wranglers.They were still, darkmen, whose facial expression seldom varied; tall and lithe and wiry as themustangs they rode.The Stewarts were on their way to Kanab, Utah, to arrangefor the sale of a drove of horses they had captured and corraled in a narrowcanyon back in the Siwash.Lawson said he was at our service, and was promptlyhired to look after our horses."Any cougar signs back in the breaks?" asked Jones."Wal, there's a cougar on every deer trail," replied the elder Stewart, "An'two for every pinto in the breaks.Old Tom himself downed fifteen colts fer usthis spring.""Fifteen colts! That's wholesale murder.Why don't you kill the butcher?""We've tried more'n onct.It's a turrible busted up country, them brakes.Noman knows it, an' the cougars do.Old Tom ranges all the ridges and brakes,even up on the slopes of Buckskin; but he lives down there in them holes, an'Lord knows, no dog I ever seen could follow him.We tracked him in the snow,an' had dogs after him, but none could stay with him, except two as never cumback.But we've nothin' agin Old Tom like Jeff Clarke, a hoss rustler, who hasa string of pintos corraled north of us.Clarke swears he ain't raised a coltin two years.""We'll put that old cougar up a tree," exclaimed Jones."If you kill him we'll make you all a present of a mustang, an' Clarke, he'llgive you two each," replied Stewart."We'd be gettin' rid of him cheap.""How many wild horses on the mountain now?"Page 38ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html"Hard to tell.Two or three thousand, mebbe.There's almost no ketchin' them,an' they regrowin' all the time We ain't had no luck this spring.The bunch incorral we got last year.""Seen anythin' of the White Mustang?" inquired Frank."Ever get a rope nearhim?""No nearer'n we hev fer six years back.He can't be ketched.We seen him an'his band of blacks a few days ago, headin' fer a water-hole down where NailCanyon runs into Kanab Canyon.He's so cunnn' he'll never water at any of ourtrap corrals.An' we believe he can go without water fer two weeks, unlessmebbe he hes a secret hole we've never trailed him to.""Would we have any chance to see this White Mustang and his band?" questionedJones."See him? Why, thet'd be easy.Go down Snake Gulch, camp at Singin' Cliffs,go over into Nail Canyon, an' wait.Then send some one slippin' down to thewater-hole at Kanab Canyon, an' when the band cums in to drink--which I reckonwill be in a few days now--hev them drive the mustangs up.Only be sure to hevthem get ahead of the White Mustang, so he'll hev only one way to cum, fer hesure is knowin'.He never makes a mistake.Mebbe you'll get to see him cum bylike a white streak [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]