|
|
RANCH LIFE AND THE HUNTING TRAIL
by Theodore Roosevelt
CHAPTER 2
OUT ON THE RANGE
A stranger in the North-western cattle country is especially
struck by the resemblance the settlers show in their pursuits and
habits to the Southern people. Nebraska and Dakota, east of the
Missouri, resemble Minnesota and Iowa and the States farther east,
but Montana and the Dakota cow country show more kinship with Texas;
for while elsewhere in America settlement has advanced along the
parallels of latitude, on the great plains it has followed the
meridians of longitude and has gone northerly rather than westerly.
The business is carried on as it is in the South. The rough-rider of
the plains, the hero of rope and revolver, is first cousin to the
backwoodsman of the southern Alleghenies, the man of the ax and the
rifle; he is only a unique offshoot of the frontier stock of the
South-west. The very term "round-up" is used by the cowboys in the
exact sense in which it is employed by the hill people and
mountaineers of Kentucky, Tennessee, and North Carolina, with whom
also labor is dear and poor land cheap, and whose few cattle are
consequently branded and turned loose in the woods exactly as is done
with the great herds on the plains.
But the ranching industry itself was copied from the Mexicans, of
whose land and herds the South-western frontiersmen of Texas took
forcible possession; and the traveler in the North-west will see at a
glance that the terms and practices of our business are largely of
Spanish origin. The cruel curb-bit and heavy stock-saddle, with its
high horn and cantle, prove that we have adopted Spanish-American
horse-gear; and the broad hat, huge blunt spurs, and leather
chaperajos of the rider, as well as the corral in which the
stock are penned, all alike show the same ancestry. Throughout the
cattle country east of the Rocky Mountains, from the Rio Grande to
the Saskatchewan, the same terms are in use and the same system is
followed; but on the Pacific slope, in California, there are certain
small differences, even in nomenclature. Thus, we of the great plains
all use the double cinch saddle, with one girth behind the horse's
fore legs and another farther back, while Californians prefer one
with a single cinch, which seems to us much inferior for stock-work.
Again, Californians use the Spanish word " lasso," which with us has
been entirely dropped, no plainsman with pretensions to the title
thinking of any word but " rope," either as noun or verb.
The rope, whether leather lariat or made of grass, is the one
essential feature of every cowboy's equipment. Loosely coiled, it
hangs from the horn or is tied to one side of the saddle in front of
the thigh, and is used for every conceivable emergency, a twist being
taken round the stout saddle-horn the second the noose settles over
the neck or around the legs of a chased animal. In helping pull a
wagon up a steep pitch, in dragging an animal by the horns out of a
bog-hole, in hauling logs for the fire, and in a hundred other ways
aside from its legitimate purpose, the rope is of invaluable service,
and dexterity with it is prized almost or quite as highly as good
horsemanship, and is much rarer. Once a cowboy is a good roper and
rider, the only other accomplishment he values is skill with his
great army revolver, it being taken for granted that he is already a
thorough plainsman and has long mastered the details of cattlework;
for the best roper and rider alive is of little use unless he is
hardworking, honest, keenly alive to his employer's interest, and
very careful in the management of the cattle.
All cowboys can handle the rope with more or less ease and
precision, but great skill in its use is only attained after long
practice, and for its highest development needs that the man should
have begun in earliest youth. Mexicans literally practice from
infancy; the boy can hardly toddle before he gets a string and begins
to render life a burden to the hens, goats, and pigs. A really
first-class roper can command his own price, and is usually fit for
little but his own special work.
It is much the same with riding. The cowboy is an excellent rider
in his own way, but his way differs from that of a trained school
horseman or cross-country fox-hunter as much as it does from the
horsemanship of an Arab or of a Sioux Indian, and, as with all these,
it has its special merits and special defects-schoolman, fox-hunter,
cowboy, Arab, and Indian being all alike admirable riders in their
respective styles, and each cherishing the same profound and ignorant
contempt for every method but his own. The flash riders, or
horse-breakers, always called "bronco busters," can perform really
marvelous feats, riding with ease the most vicious and unbroken
beasts, that no ordinary cowboy would dare to tackle. Although
sitting seemingly so loose in the saddle, such a rider cannot be
jarred out of it by the wildest plunges, it being a favorite feat to
sit out the antics of a bucking horse with silver halfdollars under
each knee or in the stirrups under each foot. But their method of
breaking is very rough, consisting only in saddling and bridling a
beast by main force and then riding him, also by main force, until he
is exhausted, when he is turned over as " broken." Later on the
cowboy himself may train his horse to stop or wheel instantly at a
touch of the reins or bit, to start at top speed at a signal, and to
stand motionless when left. An intelligent pony soon picks up a good
deal of knowledge about the cow business on his own account.
All cattle are branded, usually on the hip, shoulder, and side, or
on any one of them, with letters, numbers, or figures, in every
combination, the outfit being known by its brand. Near me, for
instance, are the Three Sevens, the Thistle, the Bellows, the OX, the
VI., the Seventy-six Bar, and the Quarter Circle Diamond outfits. The
dew-lap and the ears may also be cut, notched, or slit. All brands
are registered, and are thus protected against imitators, any man
tampering with them being punished as severely as possible. Unbranded
animals are called mavericks, and when found on the round-up
are either branded by the owner of the range on which they are, or
else are sold for the benefit of the association. At every shipping
point, as well as where the beef cattle are received, there are stock
inspectors who jealously examine all the brands on the live animals
or on the hides of the slaughtered ones, so as to detect any foul
play, which is immediately reported to the association. It becomes
second nature with a cowboy to inspect and note the brands of every
bunch of animals he comes across.
Perhaps the thing that seems strangest to the traveler who for the
first time crosses the bleak plains of this Upper Missouri grazing
country is the small number of cattle seen. He can hardly believe he
is in the great stock region, where for miles upon miles he will not
see a single head, and will then come only upon a straggling herd of
a few score. As a matter of fact, where there is no artificial food
put up for winter use cattle always need a good deal of ground per
head; and this is peculiarly the case with us in the North-west,
where much of the ground is bare of vegetation and where what pasture
there is is both short and sparse. It is a matter of absolute
necessity, where beasts are left to shift for themselves in the open
during the bitter winter weather, that they then should have grass
that they have not cropped too far down; and to insure this it is
necessary with us to allow on the average about twenty-five acres of
ground to each animal. This means that a range of country ten miles
square will keep between two and three thousand head of stock only,
and if more are put on, it is at the risk of seeing a severe winter
kill off half or three-quarters of the whole number. So a range may
be in reality overstocked when to an Eastern and unpracticed eye it
seems hardly to have on it a number worth taking into account.
Overstocking is the great danger threatening the stock-raising
industry on the plains. This industry has only risen to be of more
than local consequence during the past score of years, as before that
time it was confined to Texas and California; but during these two
decades of its existence the stockmen in different localities have
again and again suffered the most ruinous losses, usually with
overstocking as the ultimate cause. In the south the drought, and in
the north the deep snows, and everywhere unusually bad winters, do
immense damage; still, if the land is fitted for stock at all, they
will, averaging one year with another, do very well so long as the
feed is not cropped down too close.
But, of course, no amount of feed will make some countries worth
anything for cattle that are not housed during the winter; and
stockmen in choosing new ranges for their herds pay almost as much
attention to the capacity of the land for yielding shelter as they do
to the abundant and good quality of the grass. High up among the
foot-hills of the mountains cattle will not live through the winter;
and an open, rolling prairie land of heavy rainfall, where in
consequence the snow lies deep and there is no protection from the
furious cold winds, is useless for winter grazing, no matter how
thick and high the feed. The three essentials for a range are grass,
water, and shelter: the water is only needed in summer and the
shelter in winter, while it may be doubted if drought during the hot
months has ever killed off more cattle than have died of exposure on
shelterless ground to the icy weather, lasting from November to
April.
The finest summer range may be valueless either on account of its
lack of shelter or because it is in a region of heavy
snowfall-portions of territory lying in the same latitude and not
very far apart often differing widely in this respect, or
extraordinarily severe weather may cause a heavy death-rate utterly
unconnected with overstocking. This was true of the loss that visited
the few herds which spent the very hard winter of 1880 on the
northern cattle plains. These were the pioneers of their kind, and
the grass was all that could be desired; yet the extraordinary
severity of the weather proved too much for the cattle. This was
especially the case with those herds consisting of " pilgrims," as
they are called-that is, of animals driven up on to the range from
the south, and therefore in poor condition. One such herd of pilgrims
on the Powder River suffered a loss of thirty-six hundred out of a
total of four thousand, and the survivors kept alive only by browsing
on the tops of cottonwoods felled for them. Even seasoned animals
fared very badly. One great herd in the Yellowstone Valley lost about
a fourth of its number, the loss falling mainly on the breeding cows,
calves, and bulls,- always the chief sufferers, as the steers, and
also the dry cows, will get through almost anything. The loss here
would have been far heavier than it was had it not been for a curious
trait shown by the cattle. They kept in bands of several hundred
each, and during the time of the deep snows a band would make a start
and travel several miles in a straight line, plowing their way
through the drifts and beating out a broad track; then, when stopped
by a frozen water-course or chain of buttes, they would turn back and
graze over the trail thus made, the only place where they could get
at the grass.
A drenching rain, followed by a severe snap of cold, is even more
destructive than deep snow, for the saturated coats of the poor
beasts are turned into sheets of icy mail, and the grass-blades,
frozen at the roots as well as above, change into sheaves of brittle
spears as uneatable as so many icicles. Entire herds have perished in
consequence of such a storm. Mere cold, however, will kill only very
weak animals, which is fortunate for us, as the spirit in the
thermometer during winter often sinks to fifty degrees below zero,
the cold being literally arctic; yet though the cattle become thin
during such a snap of weather, and sometimes have their ears, tails,
and even horns frozen off they nevertheless rarely die from the cold
alone. But if there is a blizzard blowing at such a time, the cattle
need shelter, and if caught in the open, will travel for scores of
miles before the storm, until they reach a break in the ground, or
some stretch of dense woodland, which will shield them from the
blasts. If cattle traveling in this manner come to some obstacle that
they cannot pass, as, for instance, a wire fence or a steep railway
embankment, they will not try to make their way back against the
storm, but will simply stand with their tails to it until they drop
dead in their tracks; and, accordingly, in some parts of the
country-but luckily far to the south of us-the railways are fringed
with countless skeletons of beasts that have thus perished, while
many of the long wire fences make an almost equally bad showing. In
some of the very open country of Kansas and Indian Territory, many of
the herds during the past two years have suffered a loss of from
sixty to eighty per cent., although this was from a variety of
causes, including drought as well as severe winter weather. Too much
rain is quite as bad as too little, especially if it falls after the
1st of August, for then, though the growth of grass is very rank and
luxuriant, it yet has little strength and does not cure well on the
stalk; and it is only possible to winter cattle at large at all
because of the way in which the grass turns into natural hay by this
curing on the stalk.
But scantiness of food, due to overstocking, is the one really
great danger to us in the north, who do not have to fear the droughts
that occasionally devastate portions of the southern ranges. In a
fairly good country, if the feed is plenty, the natural increase of a
herd is sure shortly to repair any damage that may be done by an
unusually severe winter- unless, indeed, the latter should be one
such as occurs but two or three times in a century. When, however,
the grass becomes cropped down, then the loss in even an ordinary
year is heavy among the weaker animals, and if the winter is at all
severe it becomes simply appalling. The snow covers the shorter grass
much quicker, and even when there is enough, the cattle, weak and
unfit to travel around, have to work hard to get it; their exertions
tending to enfeeble them and to render them less able to cope with
the exposure and cold. The large patches of brushwood, into which the
cattle crowd and which to a small number afford ample shelter and
some food, become trodden down and yield neither when the beasts
become too plentiful. Again, the grass is, of course, soonest eaten
off where there is shelter; and, accordingly, the broken ground to
which the animals cling during winter may be grazed bare of
vegetation though the open plains, to which only the hardiest will at
this season stray, may have plenty; and insufficiency of food,
although not such as actually to starve them, weakens them so that
they succumb readily to the cold or to one of the numerous accidents
to which they are liable-as slipping off an icy butte or getting cast
in a frozen washout. The cows in calf are those that suffer most, and
so heavy is the loss among these and so light the calf crop that it
is yet an open question whether our northern ranges are as a whole
fitted for breeding. When the animals get weak they will huddle into
some nook or corner and simply stay there till they die. An empty
hut, for instance, will often in the spring be found to contain the
carcasses of a dozen weak cows or poor steers that have crawled into
it for protection from the cold, and once in have never moved out.
Overstocking may cause little or no harm for two or three years,
but sooner or later there comes a winter which means ruin to the
ranches that have too many cattle on them; and in our country, which
is even now getting crowded, it is merely a question of time as to
when a winter will come that will understock the ranges by the
summary process of killing off about half of all the cattle
throughout the North-west. [*Written in the fall of 1886; the ensuing
winter exactly fulfilled the prophecy.] The herds that have just been
put on suffer most in such a case; if they have come on late and are
composed of weak animals, very few indeed, perhaps not ten per cent.,
will survive. The cattle that have been double or single wintered do
better; while a range-raised steer is almost as tough as a buffalo.
In our northern country we have "free grass"; that is, the
stockmen rarely own more than small portions of the land over which
their cattle range, the bulk of it being unsurveyed and still the
property of the National Government-for the latter refuses to sell
the soil except in small lots, acting on the wise principle of
distributing it among as many owners as possible. Here and there some
ranchman has acquired title to narrow strips of territory peculiarly
valuable as giving water-right; but the amount of land thus occupied
is small with us,-although the reverse is tine case farther
south,-and there is practically no fencing to speak of As a
consequence, the land is one vast pasture, and the man who overstocks
his own range damages his neighbors as much as himself These huge
northern pastures are too dry and the soil too poor to be used for
agriculture until the rich, wet lands to the east and west are
occupied; and at present we have little to fear from grangers. Of
course, in the end much of the ground will be taken up for small
farms, but the farmers that so far have come in have absolutely
failed to make even a living, except now and then by raising a few
vegetables for the use of the stockmen; and we are inclined to
welcome the incoming of an occasional settler, if he is a decent man,
especially as, by the laws of the Territories in which the great
grazing plains lie, he is obliged to fence in his own patch of
cleared ground, and we do not have to keep our cattle out of it.
At present we are far more afraid of each other. There are always
plenty of men who for the sake of the chance of gain they themselves
run are willing to jeopardise the interests of their neighbors by
putting on more cattle than the land will support-for the loss, of
course, falls as heavily on the man who has put on the right number
as on him who has put on too many; and it is against these
individuals that we have to guard so far as we are able. To protect
ourselves completely is impossible, but the very identity of interest
that renders all of us liable to suffer for the fault of a few also
renders us as a whole able to take some rough measures to guard
against the wrong-doing of a portion of our number; for the fact that
the cattle wander intermixed over the ranges forces all the ranchmen
of a locality to combine if they wish to do their work effectively.
Accordingly, the stockmen of a neighborhood, when it holds as many
cattle as it safely can, usually unitedly refuse to work with any one
who puts in another herd. In the cow country a man is peculiarly
dependent upon his neighbors, and a small outfit is wholly unable to
work without their assistance when once the cattle have mingled
completely with those of other brands. A large outfit is much more
master of its destiny, and can do its own work quite by itself; but
even such a one can be injured in countless ways if the hostility of
the neighboring ranchmen is incurred.
The best days of ranching are over; and though there are many
ranchmen who still make money, yet during the past two or three years
the majority have certainly lost. This is especially true of the
numerous Easterners who went into the business without any experience
and trusted themselves entirely to their Western representatives;
although, on the other hand, many of those who have made most money
at it are Easterners, who, however, have happened to be naturally
fitted for the work and who have deliberately settled down to
learning the business as they would have learned any other, devoting
their whole time and energy to it. Stock-raising, as now carried on,
is characteristic of a young and wild land. As the country grows
older, it will in some places die out, and in others entirely change
its character; the ranches will be broken up, will be gradually
modified into stock-farms, or, if on good soil, may even fall under
the sway of the husbandman.
In its present form stock-raising on the plains is doomed, and can
hardly outlast the century. The great free ranches, with their
barbarous, picturesque, and curiously fascinating surroundings, mark
a primitive stage of existence as surely as do the great tracts of
primeval forests, and like the latter must pass away before the
onward march of our people; and we who have felt the charm of the
life, and have exulted in its abounding vigor and its bold, restless
freedom, will not only regret its passing for our own sakes, but must
also feel real sorrow that those who come after us are not to see, as
we have seen, what is perhaps the pleasantest, healthiest, and most
exciting phase of American existence.
Ranch Life and
the Hunting Trail Continued
Show Ranch Life Contents |
