Patches (Hawkes)/Chapter 7
EARLY in December all of the help on the Crooked Creek ranch, with the exception of Hank Brodie and the polo team, were discharged and the men drifted away to seek other employment or to loaf during the winter and the ranch settled down into the quiet of the long cold winter.
Christmas was a very lively day at the ranch house. There was a Christmas tree for the children of the manager and the cow-punchers entered into this festivity with all the abandon of youth. In the evening there was an old-time country dance. Men and we men came from neighboring ranches for fifty miles around. The furniture in the long narrow ranch room was stacked up in the hallway and in the corners of the room, and an old fashioned dance was enjoyed until the small hours of the morning with two squeaky violins and a portable organ to furnish the music. Long Tom in a high-keyed nasal voice called off the figures.
After this holiday dance there was little sociability or farm work until the spring time. By the first of the year when the days began to lengthen and the cold to strengthen, winter set in in earnest. Larry who had been brought up in New England thought he knew what snow was, but he soon found that he was mistaken. For it fell out here in Wyoming day after day in great white, shifting, drifting flakes which piled up in enormous drifts.
With the coming of the deep snow the cow-punchers got out what ponies had been kept in the corral and began breaking out paths for the cattle. A cow-puncher mounted upon his favorite steed and leading three other ponies behind him would make a path for the cattle leading to the best feed and drinking places. The parada had gradually drifted down to the lower plateau and had taken refuge in several sheltered canyons on some unfenced land below the plateau. Here they were somewhat sheltered and the snow was not so deep. The ponies, of which there were about a hundred loose on the ranch, made better work of feeding in the winter time than did the cows. They would go from point to point pawing under the snow and uncovering the seered, frost-bitten grass. Each pony was sure to have a string of cows following after him to pick up the morsels that he left.
After the middle of January the hay stacks on the home ranch, containing several hundred tons of hay, were thrown open to the cattle. They fell upon it
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ravenously and it disappeared before their onset like dew before the sun. In another month they had eaten the last spear of hay and were still hungry. Then several tons of oilcake were brought out to tide them over for another few days. This was made of flax-seed ground and pressed into sheets. It was very nutritious and there was a saying among the cow-punchers that if a cow has been dead only twenty-four hours it will bring her round.
By the first of February the cold was intense and then the cattle were seen standing about forlornly. When Larry inquired the reason for this his uncle explained that they could stand the cold better by standing still; moving about against the wind might freeze them stiff in a few hours. Their coats which had been glossy and bright early in November were now dull and lusterless. Their ribs which had been covered with fat in early fall began to show through beneath the hide. Then it was that here and there over the panorama of white, small hillocks of snow were seen. When Larry poked into the first one he saw, he was horrified to find a dead cow beneath it. But he soon got used to this gruesome sight and it was a fortunate day when he did not discover a half dozen. Some of these cattle died from exposure and pneumonia and some starved to death, but this was expected on a great ranch where so many cattle were taken care of and the cow-punchers looked upon it as a part of the day's work.
Late in February when the sun had mounted higher in the heavens and its rays were warmer the snow would melt in sheltered spots on warm days. Then a very perceptible odor from these pathetic little piles of snow was noticed on the spring air.
It was to the call of such an allurement as this that Two Toes the Terrible led his band of seven grizzled hunters over the mountains that hemmed in the Crooked Creek ranch on the north and down onto the upper plateau. Two Toes was by far the most destructive wolf that had ever harassed the cattle growers of the northwest. In four states bounties were set upon his scalp by both county governments and private corporations. The aggregate of these bounties was fifteen hundred dollars so it will be well understood that the stock men wished to get rid of him. He had killed sheep by the thousands in South Dakota. He and his band would steal upon the sheep when they were bunched for the night and the shepherds were asleep and they would scatter before the onset of the wolves like chaff before the wind. Then for several days they would go about killing the small bands of unfortunate sheep. They had been known to kill as many as three hundred in a single night, while for the shepherd to find twenty or thirty terribly mangled sheep was a common thing. They never ate them, not caring for mutton, but merely killed them for the excitement of the chase.
Two Toes had killed calves and colts in Nebraska and had driven several horse-raisers who had ranches in southeastern Montana nearly to despair. In Wyoming he had killed calves and yearlings and done much damage on the cattle ranches. Although he never ate mutton he did like a tender young colt, but his favorite diet was calves and yearling heifers. He was so fastidious that he never ate an adult animal and as this band of wolves never ate anything that they did not kill themselves they were immune to all kinds of poison.
Old Two Toes' cunning in perceiving traps was almost beyond belief. His nose always warned him of danger and never was at fault. He would go where some trapper had set twenty-five to fifty steel traps for his little band and with diabolical cunning would discover each trap. Some of them he would uncover and these he would spring by scratching sticks or stones on them. Several government hunters, employed especially for the purpose, had camped on his trail for four or five years.
He was well-known to the biological branch of a certain department of the government in Washington. Just as a great city catalogs its crooks and keeps a gallery of them, so the Washington government keeps a catalog of the most destructive animals, and Two Toes' record was the most formidable in the department. It consisted of a long story of his ravages and several photographs of him which a government hunter had taken one day when he was armed with a telephoto instead of a rifle. There were also drawings of his peculiar track. Only once in his adventurous life had he ever fallen into a trap and then he had stumbled upon it in an out-of-the-way place when fleeing from an enemy. This misfortune had cost him the two middle toes on his right fore-foot and wherever he went he left the peculiar trail of this club foot. There were really two toes and a dewclaw on this foot, but the latter did not show in a dirt trail so he was usually referred to as Old Two Toes.
Before he had been on the Crooked Creek ranch for twenty-four hours, he and his band had killed half a dozen calves and three or four yearlings.
Hank Brodie had at once recognized that the ranch had some bad visitors and it was not many days before he discovered the peculiar trail of Old Two Toes; then he knew they were in for trouble.
He sent to the nearest drug store for a supply of arsenic and strychnine. All of the carcasses of the animals that had been killed were doctored with poison. He also cut pieces of meat from these carcasses and poisoned them using every precaution not to taint them. He likewise tried to tempt the wolves with freshly killed chickens dosing them in the same manner with the poison. But all his attempts to poison the wolves were futile, for they escaped the poisoned meat by leaving it rigidly alone. In some places they showed their contempt for this strategy by scratching snow and dirt over the meat and defiling it in other ways. Seeing it was useless to work further with the poison fifty new steel traps were secured and these were set in all the likely places. They were set in pairs and in threes, baited and unbaited, with all the skill that a local trapper who had been called in to help could devise. But day after day went by and no wolves were trapped, but the killing of calves and yearlings went steadily on. The wolves finally became so bold under Old Two Toes' leadership that they would come in close to the ranch house. No one ever saw them but their tracks left in the snow could plainly be seen the following morning.
One night Larry was awakened from a sound sleep by a most pitiful yelling from Billy, the Scotch collie, who was the only dog tolerated on the ranch. The outcries were so terrible that Larry sprang from his bed and hurried to the bunk house door, for the cries had seemed to come just outside. There on the door step he found the beautiful dog lying in the welter of his own blood and gasping for breath. But stranger even than that, Patches who was supposed to be safely housed in the corral was standing by his side and bending over him solicitously; for Patches and Billy were the greatest of friends. Billy always greeted Patches by jumping up and licking his nose when he and Larry came in from a ride over the ranch.
Larry picked Billy up gently and carried him into the bunk house and laid him on the rug inside the door. Then he called Hank Brodie and the rest of the cow-punchers. One glance at the dog was enough for them. They recognized the work of his assailants.
"It's wolves," said Long Tom, "and I guess they has done for Billy."
The prophecy was a good one for five minutes later the noble dog had breathed his last. Larry was heartbroken, but seeing he could do nothing more for Billy he put on his clothes and went outside to put Patches back in the corral again, but Patches was gone. He whistled and searched about the ranch buildings for half an hour but not a sign of the horse could he discover, and strangest of all the corral bars were up. Then he went sorrowfully back into the bunk house and told this additional news to the cow-punchers.
"I wouldn't worry about him," said Hank Brodie, "he's probably just strayed out, but what beats me is how he ever got out of the corral."
"He'll turn up all right in the morning, son," said Big Bill. "Don't you worry about Patches; if I ever saw an animal that was capable of taking care of himself, it is that hoss."
All that night Larry was haunted with dreams of Patches and the wolves. First the horse would be galloping wildly over the snow with a half dozen of the gray, gaunt destroyers at his heels trying to hamstring him. Then the scene would change and Patches would be backed up against a cliff surrounded by the gray marauders who sprang at his throat and tried to pull him down. Several times Larry awoke in a dripping sweat to find his heart beating like a trip-hammer. Finally he gave up trying to sleep and waited impatiently for the sound of the alarm clock in the bunk house. When it finally sounded he sprang out of bed with alacrity and hastily dressed. This was the first time during nearly a year that he had lived on the ranch that he had ever been awake when the alarm clock rang.
He hastened outside to see what he could learn of the tragic events of the night before. His uncle and Big Bill were already on the scene looking at the tracks in the snow. Larry could make little of these hieroglyphics in the snow, but to experienced trailers like his uncle and Bill the story was as plain as the printed page in a book.
"You see, it was this here way," said Bill when he had examined all the tracks carefully, "Old Two Toes was snooking about the place and surprised Billy and fell upon him like a thunder bolt, but Billy managed to ward him off for a few seconds by leaping about and dodging. But finally the old killer got the death grip, then it was that Billy set up that unearthly yelling and you couldn't blame him.
"Patches was probably the first one to hear this call of his friend for help and he went over the corral fence like a rocket although it is seven feet high. He fell on that Old Two Toes like a ton of brick and the old killer suddenly remembered that he had very urgent business in another part of the ranch and he lit out for parts unknown going about twelve feet at a jump and Patches after him. But after the first hundred feet or two Patches turned back to see how Billy was and escorted him to the bunk house steps. When he saw you had taken his chum inside, he again went after the wolf."
Immediately after breakfast Hank Brodie and Larry saddled their horses and started out to find the truant Patches. Larry was mounted upon the Jack Rabbit which Pony had loaned for the occasion.
They were able to follow the tracks of the wolves and the horse for about two miles, until Old Two Toes took to the timber. Here Patches was joined by some other horses and his track could not be told from the rest of the herd.
Larry and his uncle rode hither and you over the ranch and it was not until about four o'clock in the afternoon that they caught sight of Patches. And then they found him standing upon a swell on the upper plateau, away to the north over close to the perimeter of the mountains. He seemed to be gazing intently across the snow and almost immediately Hank Brodie saw three other horses standing upon nearby swells, all in this watchful attitude. Larry was overjoyed to see his chum and at once started after him using the shrill whistle that he always employed when he wished to call the horse. But to his great surprise when he came within about sixty yards of his chum Patches threw up his head and galloped off and they saw him no more that day.
"Well," said Hank Brodie, "I guess we've lost him for this time but we'll get him to-morrow."
Larry was loathe to give up the pursuit, but finally seeing that his uncle was right he reluctantly turned back to the ranch house.
Early the following morning they were out on the range again looking for Patches. This time they were more successful in locating him and discovered him about noon. But he was still as wary as he had been the day before. He would allow Larry to approach within fifty yards, then he would throw up his head and trot away. The boy followed him for hours thinking he would wear out this persistent aloofness, but all to no purpose. When night fell he was still as far from securing his horse chum as ever.
"Don't be discouraged, son" said Big Bill to him that night as he recounted the day's futile pursuit, "when he gets good and ready he will let you catch him. Until then there ain't much use chasing him. I'd jest let him alone."
But Larry could not content himself with idleness and every day for two weeks he went out to look for Patches. Some days he didn't see the horse at all and then a great fear would seize him. Perhaps he had ventured into the timber and the wolves had pulled him down. But the following day Larry would usually find him.
It seemed to Larry that the brightest and best thing in his life had been taken from him. He never could have imagined he would miss a mere animal so terribly. But Patches was more than an animal; he was a chum, a companion in the day's work. He and Larry had ranged the ranch together early and late, in spring, summer, autumn, and winter and they had come to be inseparable. If Patches missed Larry he gave no sign for at the end of two weeks he still eluded him just as he had the first day.
One evening before sundown Larry went to the top of the pinnacle above Piñon Valley where his uncle had taken him on that memorable day when he had shown him "the cattle on a thousand hills."
Larry scanned the country through his glass for a long time before he made out anything that interested him. But finally he discovered on the upper plateau a dog-like animal trotting towards the cul-de-sac or neck of the bottle which led through into Piñon Valley.
At first he thought it was surely an enormous dog, then as the animal drew nearer he saw to his great surprise that it was a gigantic wolf, perhaps Two Toes himself.
Larry's surprise on discovering the wolf had barely subsided when he noticed a horse following about seventy-five yards behind the wolf, but he was not alone for presently Larry discovered nearly a dozen other horses all spread out in an elliptical shape behind the wolf, and then he saw that the horse leading was Patches.
Then Larry noticed that the great wolf seemed very tired, for he trotted wearily along and not with the usual springy lope of the lobo wolf.
But soon he lost him as he disappeared in the neck of the bottle. He turned his glass upon the point where he must reappear at the upper end of Piñon Valley.
Presently he saw him come trotting wearily forth. He had not covered more than a third of the distance through the valley when Patches and his little band of horses broke out of the cul-de-sac. When Larry had last seen them they had been trotting leisurely but now they broke into a wild gallop and swept down the valley upon the solitary wolf like a whirlwind.
Larry thought he had seen range horses run before but he had never seen such running as he now beheld on the part of this little flying squadron. They gained steadily upon the wolf who looked back once and saw the on-coming menace. He seemed to appreciate his danger for he put forth his utmost strength and ran belly to earth, but even so the flying squadron of riderless cavalry gained on him. When about half way down the valley Old Two Toes turned to the left to escape, if possible, in the piñons and junipers upon the steep hillside. But Patches who was leading that wing of the charging herd let out a great burst of speed and quickly headed the gray wolf back to the center of the valley. Then the beleaguered wolf tried the right side but this wing of Patches' little troop of cavalry increased its speed and headed him back. Slowly the two jaws of this phalanx of pounding hoofs were closing in upon him. Again he tried the straight away run down the valley but the flying horses increased their speed. Once the wolf hesitated and
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looked, first this way and that for an escape and this hesitation was his undoing, for closing up their ranks the squadron passed over him like an express train and left him limp upon the snow. About fifty yards beyond the prostrate wolf, they wheeled as though by command of unseen riders and charged back. By this time the wolf had raised upon his fore-legs but his hind quarters seemed paralyzed and once again the charging horses passed over him.
Larry's heart gave a throb of fear as he saw the mighty wolf spring at Patches' throat but the pounding hoofs crushed him to earth and the flying broncho passed by unscathed. Once again the maneuvering squadron paused about fifty yards from the prostrate wolf, but this time Patches went back alone. He came up close to the fallen destroyer and reared upon his hind legs and brought down his forefeet like pile drivers upon the wolf. This he repeated thrice; then, concluding that all life had been crushed out of him, he returned to his little band.
Larry waited to see no more but made all haste down through the piñons and junipers, sending snow and sand sliding down before him. He reached Piñon Valley excited and breathless.
He found Patches and his little band of mustangs still bunched together just as he had last seen them. He thrust two fingers into his mouth and blew the shrill whistle with which he had called Patches so many times in days gone by. And this time to his great joy his chum nickered and trotted eagerly toward him while the rest of the mustangs galloped away in the direction from which they had come.
Patches seemed overjoyed to be with his master once more and immediately began nosing about his pockets for the bag of lump sugar that Larry had been carrying for the entire two weeks and which he had held up for Patches' inspection whenever he came near him. Patches ate a couple of lumps, kissed his master upon each cheek and bowed low. He got two more lumps and then he had to shake hands. From his manner it was apparent to Larry that the horse had lost none of his affection for him; he had simply been upon other business during the strange two weeks.
When Larry had petted him to his heart's content and Patches had eaten the last lump of sugar in the bag, Larry took the bridle and saddle from Baldy who had been hitched in the piñons nearby and put them on Patches. He put the halter that he had carried on his saddle bow for the past two weeks upon Baldy. Then by means of his lariat he bound the lobo wolf to Baldy's back. The old mustang objected at first but finally decided to carry the load. When the wolf had been made secure Larry mounted Patches and leading Baldy started triumphantly back to the ranch.
That evening by the long table in the ranch house he told the story to an excited audience. He told it well, not omitting any of the high-lights in Patches' performance. When he had finished Big Bill brought his fist down upon the table with a blow that made the dishes rattle.
"By heaven, gents, it is jest as I thought," he said. "I knowed it all the time but I reckon it is easier to prophesy after a thing is over that it is before it happens, but I knowed it jest the same.
"That air Patches has been camping on the trail of that old lobo wolf these two weeks. Whenever he came out in the open, he and his hosses were right after him a-wearing him down and pestering the life out'n him. They were waiting for the right opening to come and when he trotted into Piñon Valley he was as good as dead.
"Don't ever tell me again that a hoss ain't got some reasoning power. I knowed they have and they've got hoss sense besides, and that's more than some folks got."
When they came to weigh and measure the lobo wolf all the cow-punchers were amazed at his dimensions, for he stood thirty-five inches at his shoulders and weighed one hundred and forty-two pounds. When we remember that a large timber wolf only weighs about ninety pounds it will be seen that Two Toes was a giant among his fellows. The loss of their leader immediately demoralized the band of gray hunters and they were seen no more on the Crooked Creek ranch, and Patches got the credit of ridding the ranch of these destroyers.