T h . -;
 
 
 THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES
 
 The Untamed
 
 So much had three days with the wild linked up the slack 
 chain of her blood tie." Shiela
 
 The Untamed 
 
 Range Life in the Southwest 
 
 By 
 
 George Pattullo 
 
 Toronto 
 
 McLeod & Allen 
 
 1911
 
 Copyright 1908, 1909, 1910 by THE CURTIS PUBLISHING COMPANY 
 
 Copyright 1910 by THE S. S. MCCLCRE COMPANY 
 
 Copyright 1911 by THE PHILLIPS PUBLISHING COMPANY 
 
 Copyright 1911 by DESMOND FIT/GERALD, INC.
 
 QL 
 Til 
 
 TO 
 
 FRANK B. MOSON 
 
 and the boys of the O R, R O, and Turkey Track
 
 My coffee I boil without being ground. 
 
 The fire I kindle with chips gathered round. 
 My books are the brooks, my sermons the stones; 
 My parson's a wolf on pulpit of bones. 
 
 The sky is my ceiling; my carpet's the grass; 
 
 My music's the lowing of herds as they pass. 
 Ballad of The Trail Boss.
 
 Acknowledgment is made to The Saturday 
 Evening Post, McClure's Magazine, and The 
 American Magazine for permission to republish 
 these stories.
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 I OL' SAM ... 
 
 II THE MARAUDER . 
 
 III CORAZON . . . 
 
 IV THE OUTLAW . . 
 V SHIELA 
 
 VI MOLLY . . . 
 
 VII THE BABY AND THE 
 PUMA .... 
 
 VIII THE MANKILLER . 
 
 IX NEUTRIA . 
 
 PAGB 
 
 A mule ... 13 
 A coyote ... 51 
 A roping horse . 83 
 A steer . . . 112 
 A wolfhound . .142 
 A range cow , .173 
 
 Mountain Lion . 202 
 A jack . . . 230 
 
 A mountain cow- 
 horse . 257
 
 LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS 
 
 " So much had three days with the wild 
 linked up the slack chain of her blood 
 
 tie " . Frontispiece 
 
 Facing Page 
 
 " What you mean by running off this 
 a-way?" 48 
 
 " The wolf drove away a couple of buz- 
 zards and fell upon this savagely " . 60 
 
 " Leaping, with legs stiff, straight off 
 the ground" 100 
 
 " On his hind legs, his worn fangs gleam- 
 ing, he received her " . . . ., 170 
 
 " The lonely hut was untenanted " . . 240
 
 G 
 
 OL' SAM 
 
 4 f*lP^ y ur nose ut'n that pot. Hi, 
 you flop-eared I swan, that oP 
 mule makes me mad sometimes. 
 He'd jist as leave snake your whole batch right 
 from under your nose as look at you. Git, 
 you long-legged rascal! Whoopee!" 
 
 The cook dashed at the offender, swinging 
 a bit of firewood. It struck the hybrid upon 
 the hindquarter and he countered instantane- 
 ously by lashing out with his heels. Then he 
 turned to smell of the projectile, but finding 
 it unfit for consumption, trotted off up a 
 neighboring rise and presently disappeared 
 from view. 
 
 Certain coarse men of the Lazy L outfit 
 13
 
 THE UNTAMED 
 
 called him 'Hell-on- Wheels, among other 
 things, but his real name was Sam, and he 
 made one of the four-mule team that hauled 
 the chuck-wagon during round-up. Between 
 him and Dave was a personal feud ; they were 
 most loving enemies. In the beginning the 
 cook had pampered him by feeding bread to 
 the big creature, taking no heed, and now this 
 artificial appetite he had created made of 
 Dave's waking hours a perpetual vigil and 
 conjured up nightmares in place of refreshing- 
 sleep. 
 
 For whenever Sam wasn't doing the major 
 share of hauling some four thousand odd 
 pounds of wagon, bedding and provisions 
 from one round-up ground to another, he was 
 loafing on the confines of camp, awaiting a 
 favorable opportunity to go in surreptitiously 
 and nose among the pots or at the back of the 
 wagon for the buns Dave made so cunningly. 
 What time he lost this way from grazing he 
 made up easily by his pillage; bread is very
 
 OL' SAM 
 
 fattening, and then, of course, the chuck- 
 wagon team received regular rations of corn. 
 
 Yet Dave was a watchful scoundrel, and 
 day by day it was being borne in upon Sam 
 that in these attempts at pilfering he received 
 blows and abuse more often than buns. But 
 at night, when the punchers lay asleep on the 
 ground and he could hear the cook slumbering 
 stertorously beneath the wagon-fly, it was dif- 
 ferent: then Sam would wander into camp 
 and make his way on soundless feet to the 
 dead fire. Beside its ashes he knew there 
 would be scraps of bread, perhaps some of 
 them sweetened with molasses, and for these 
 his whole being craved. On one such excursion, 
 as he munched happily on a wet crust, he in- 
 advertently put his foot into Dave's face, and, 
 because Hell-on- Wheels weighed about thir- 
 teen hundred pounds, the cook awoke very 
 peevish. 
 
 " If it wasn't," he remarked next morning 
 as he hitched up "if it wasn't that you could 
 15
 
 THE UNTAMED 
 
 haul more'n them other three put together, I'd 
 skin you alive. Oh, you needn't go for to pre- 
 tend you didn't do it a-purpose. You seen me 
 there, all right. Look at that lip! Don't it 
 look as if I'd fell off 'n a mountain?'* 
 
 The cook always knew what to expect of 
 Sam. When putting the mules in the wagon 
 he was cognizant of the precise moment that 
 Sam would kick, and could judge to a hair's 
 breadth at what angle the smashing blow 
 would be delivered. On his part, Sam knew 
 that the cook was prepared; otherwise it is 
 doubtful whether he would have let go some of 
 the vicious side-sweeps of his left leg that he 
 did. On occasions when the attacks were es- 
 pecially wicked, or when Dave calculated the 
 margin of safety with too fine nicety, he would 
 possess himself of a stout club and hammer 
 Hell-on- Wheels until he was weak. In this 
 way were bred mutual respect and a thorough 
 understanding. 
 
 It was when the wagon was miring down, 
 16
 
 OL' SAM 
 
 or when they were climbing a rocky trail in the 
 mountains, that Sam and the cook gloried one 
 in the other. Once Dave's judgment went 
 wrong by three inches in fording a stream he 
 may have been careless with a splendid con- 
 tempt, as was his habit and one hind wheel 
 sank oozily into quicksand. The cook stood 
 up and whirled his long whip and adjured 
 his team by all that was holy to pull, pull, 
 pull. 
 
 "Now, you, Hell-on- Wheels! Good ol' 
 boy! You, Sam! You!" 
 
 He lashed three of the team with stinging 
 force, but Sam he did not touch. The great 
 mule laid his shoulders into the collar and 
 heaved, heaved again and with a wrench and 
 a sucking sound they floundered out to hard 
 sand, to safety. Whenever Sam came to a 
 realization that the job required something 
 extra, and stretched himself out accordingly, 
 either the wagon followed where he wanted to 
 go or the mule went through his harness. 
 17
 
 THE UNTAMED 
 
 THe wagon boss esteemed Sam and valued 
 him at his worth, but it cannot be said that he 
 was fond of the beast. There was much in 
 his personality Uncle Henry did not like. 
 Nor did the horse-wrangler. Had anybody 
 requested Maclovio for a frank opinion of 
 Sam, the Mexican would have spat with con- 
 tempt and exhausted the resources of his pa- 
 tois. That nerveless limb of the devil? 
 Don't try to tell him the mule stampeded the 
 staked horses by accident; Maclovio knew bet- 
 ter; Sam had planned the whole turmoil from 
 the start of the round-up. The wrangler had 
 to herd the mules with the remuda, and the 
 uncanny sagacity the drag-mule displayed in 
 following out his own plans of grazing and 
 enjoyment filled the Mexican with supersti- 
 tious dread. 
 
 The ropers hated him with an active, abiding 
 
 hatred they made no effort to conceal. He 
 
 was the only member of the wagon team that 
 
 would not submit to be caught without roping. 
 
 18
 
 OL' SAM 
 
 The other mules would trot in with the horses 
 from pasture and walk quietly to the 
 wagon to be bridled, under the lure of grain; 
 but not so with the big fellow. Sam never 
 crowded away among the horses in foolish 
 panic when a roper walked through the re- 
 muda toward him : that was the way the cow- 
 ponies did, struggling blindly to get beyond 
 range, and so the noose fell about their 
 necks with ridiculous ease. That was not 
 Sam's method, he being temperamentally op- 
 posed to panic. He waited until the roper 
 approached, waited until the coil sped toward 
 him; and then only did he dodge. As a re- 
 sult, he eluded the noose time after time. In 
 fact, it always took longer to rope Sam than 
 any five of the hundred horses. 
 
 One day the hawk-eyed autocrat of the 
 Lazy L range spurred into camp in hot haste 
 while the outfit was partaking of dinner. 
 Heatedly he urged: " Watch your horses 
 Uncle Henry." Then he went to the fire, 
 IS!
 
 THE UNTAMED 
 
 filled a tin plate with beef and beans, and a 
 cup with coffee, and speared a bun. 
 
 "Shore. But what for special? They're 
 doing well and we ain't lost one," replied the 
 wagon boss, making room for his chief on the 
 shady spot where he squatted. 
 
 "Then you're in luck. That band of mus- 
 tangs has roamed down here from the Flying 
 W. They passed within two miles of the 
 ranch yesterday and, by Jupiter, if ol' Pete 
 didn't join 'em. The ol' fool! Eleven years 
 that horse has been a cowhorse and now he runs 
 off from the home pasture with a bunch of 
 wild ones." 
 
 "Where're they heading?" 
 
 "You know as much as I do. I reckon the 
 pasture is poor on the Flying W, don't you? 
 They ain't had much rain and probably this 
 bunch'll make for the mountains. Better 
 watch out," the manager admonished. 
 
 Dave toiled with his team next afternoon 
 through a waste of sand and mesquite. It 
 20
 
 OL' SAM 
 
 was very hot had there been such a thing as 
 a thermometer on the wagon it would have 
 registered better than 112 and he sat hunched 
 on the seat, occasionally throwing an encour- 
 aging word to the straining mules. Behind 
 came Al with the hoodlum wagon, which, be- 
 ing much lighter, made easy work for a pair 
 of stout horses, so that Al dozed with his hat 
 well down over his eyes and dreamed of a dress- 
 maker in Doghole. It was growing towards 
 sunset and they would pitch camp in the foot- 
 hills and have supper ready for the boys be- 
 fore darkness fell. 
 
 Without warning the mule team stopped and 
 stood at gaze, rousing Dave abruptly. A 
 dense cloud of dust was bearing down on them 
 from the right and out of that swirl came the 
 muffled pounding of many hoofs. 
 
 "The remuda's stompeded," yelled Al. 
 
 "No, they ain't. No, they ain't. It's them 
 wild horses. Git your gun, Al, quick!" 
 
 By the time Al had reached behind him 
 21
 
 THE UNTAMED 
 
 with one hand to fumble for the rifle, the band 
 had swept by and was disappearing. Prob- 
 ably there were thirty horses in it, but that was 
 only a guess, because Dave obtained nothing 
 more than a glimpse of streaming manes and 
 tails. They ran compactly, a noble buckskin 
 in the lead, and tailing the band was a white 
 horse; it was evident that he held the furious 
 pace only by a supreme effort. 
 
 "There goes ol' Pete. Blast him, if he ain't 
 hitting only the high spots," Dave bawled. 
 
 At this moment his attention was called to 
 Sam. The mule's head was thrown high, the 
 usually slouching ears were rigid and pricked 
 forward, and he was sniffing the air restlessly. 
 Once he made an abrupt lurch sideways as 
 though to follow the free rovers, but the bit 
 sawed his mouth, the collar and traces bound 
 him and he could only champ impatiently. If 
 a mule really knows how to tremble, Sam was 
 trembling then it was more a twitching of 
 the muscles. The band was lost to sight and 
 22
 
 OL' SAM 
 
 sound. Dave called a raucous command and 
 once more they settled to work. Again Sam 
 became listless and applied himself lethargi- 
 cally to pulling. 
 
 A cool breeze whipped among the scrub- 
 cedar of the foothills and went whining down 
 the valley. Above the black rim of El Toro 
 rose a rich, golden disc. Its pale light sof- 
 tened the outlines of the forms asleep upon the 
 ground; in that kindly radiance the chuck- 
 wagon and the unsightly confusion of camp 
 merged into blurs that harmonized with the 
 giant shadow of the mountain. The night 
 was full of murmurings, tense with the sug- 
 gestion of strange other worlds. Surely the 
 plaintive wailing the breeze bore to Sam from 
 El Toro's pines was a message. 
 
 He stood with his nose up wind and drew in 
 the scents of the wilds. His forelegs were 
 hobbled, the rope twisted about them so tightly 
 that he could barely shuffle when he grazed, 
 and near at hand twelve horses were staked 
 23
 
 THE UNTAMED 
 
 out. One of them, hopelessly entangled in his 
 rope, was fighting it in terror; already he was 
 on his knees unable to do aught hut cut him- 
 self. In a draw a half-mile away the remuda 
 cropped the grass under the eyes of a triple 
 guard, for Uncle Henry was mindful of the 
 manager's warning, and upon Dave's report he 
 took no chances. 
 
 Out from the shadow cast hy a mesquite 
 hush a coyote skulked, and Sahi snorted and 
 shook his head in anger. The heast's scent 
 offended him, hut he was not afraid. Some- 
 where in the dark a wildcat cried and the mule 
 cocked his ears to listen. Next moment he 
 jumped awkwardly aside as a polecat scurried 
 hy on a hunt for food. 
 
 The mule was growing restive. It was not 
 nervousness a mule is rarely nervous or 
 frightened. When he runs away or pitches 
 or balks, it is seldom because something 
 has put fear into him; it is refined cussed- 
 ness. Anyone who ever succeeded in owning 
 24
 
 OL' SAM 
 
 a mule longer than a month will tell you that. 
 
 Of a sudden Sam sank his head and his pow- 
 erful teeth met and rasped on the rope that 
 chafed his legs. One of the strands parted 
 and he strained to hreak the hobble, but too 
 impatient to direct his gnawing to one spot, 
 he was unsuccessful and finally desisted. 
 
 Was that the call of a horse? It did not 
 come from the direction in which the remuda 
 had been driven off, and his ears tingled for a 
 repetition of the sound. Twice he< humped 
 himself and struck out with his heels in the 
 fury of impotence, and paused breathlessly 
 with his eyes fixed on the yellow ball above El 
 Toro's summit. He took one step forward and 
 became immovable as his glance fell to the wide 
 lane of light it cast. 
 
 Down this silver-shimmering path a horse 
 came proudly. None but a free rover ever 
 trod earth as he did. Sam could see the fiery 
 eyes flashing suspicion, the regal head thrown 
 back, the nostrils a-quiver to divine danger. 
 25
 
 THE UNTAMED 
 
 He came like a phantom, lightly as one, si- 
 lently as one, and a dozen yards away he 
 halted, and there in the light of the moon sur- 
 yeyed the camp, the staked mounts, the sleep- 
 ing men. It was the king of the wild horses. 
 Far back of him a blotch on a hillside shifted 
 with gleam of color. 
 
 A madness was come upon Sam. From out 
 the night countless voices called to him ap- 
 pealingly; away out there in the illusive sheen 
 must be liberty and delight. His sluggish 
 blood was racing wildly, his body and limbs 
 were a-quake with eagerness to respond to that 
 appeal, to be gone into that alluring gloom. 
 One of the staked animals whinnied and 
 tugged fiercely on his rope. 
 
 At once the buckskin stallion blared a chal- 
 lenge, and he was away. The shadows swal- 
 lowed him up. From over the hill came a roll- 
 ing thunder, the noise of scores of flying hoofs, 
 and Sam got the hobble between his teeth a 
 second time, gave one ferocious upward rend, 
 26
 
 OL' 
 
 and the strands parted and dropped from him. 
 He was free, and the wilderness was calling, 
 calling. 
 
 "OF Hell-on- Wheels has done gone," ob- 
 served Dave. 
 
 "Done gone?" the wagon boss echoed. 
 "Gone where? He must be round some- 
 wheres. He cain't git through the day with- 
 out bread, Sam cain't." 
 
 "He done run off with them mustangs!" 
 In Dave's tone was depressed conviction. 
 "You hearn 'em last night the same as me. 
 Nobody seen him go, but look here. I jist 
 found his hobble all bit in two." 
 
 "And we've got to move camp this morn- 
 ing," the wagon boss raved. 
 
 "P'raps he'U come back. I shouldn't think 
 they'd want Sam with 'em, Uncle Henery. 
 He'd smash 'em all up, that bunch, he 
 would!" 
 
 "He shore would." Uncle Henry could not 
 suppress a snigger of satisfaction. 
 27
 
 THE UNTAMED 
 
 He dispatched two of the hoys to scour the 
 country for the fugitive, and Dave hitched a 
 two-mule team, falling a prey to melancholy 
 as he moved about them in absolute security. 
 How he missed that oF son-of-a-gun with his 
 sly nibbles and his kicking and sublime obsti- 
 nacy. These creatures pull? The cook grew 
 hot with disdain and had two men told off to 
 help haul the wagon with ropes in bad spots. 
 In the days that followed he would often stop 
 in his work and wonder what sense there was in 
 going through life, anyway. 
 
 Meanwhile, Sam flourished like unto the 
 green bay tree. When the band sped away 
 into the hills the night of his temptation and 
 fall, the mule summoned up unguessed re- 
 serves of speed and trailed behind. The tu- 
 multuous joy of liberty fired him; his muscles 
 responded to this new throbbing life like steel 
 springs, so that Sam not only caught up with 
 the mustangs, but ran well within himself in 
 holding with them. The renegade Pete gal- 
 28
 
 OL' SAM 
 
 loped in rear and, knowing Sam these many 
 years, nickered him breathless welcome. 
 
 A recruit to the ranks was not a novelty, 
 and though Sam was a mule, they accepted him 
 readily enough, and for several days they 
 roamed the canons of El Toro. Rains had 
 been frequent in this region and they obtained 
 their fill of grass. As is the way of horses, 
 the band paid scant attention to the mule; he 
 grazed with them, and when any alarm or 
 mere exuberance of spirits prompted a run, 
 he could show his heels to all but the buckskin 
 leader and a bay mare which seemed to carry 
 wings on her feet. 
 
 And on the fifth day occasion arose for him 
 to prove his prowess. In the band were a 
 dozen mares, seven colts of various ages and 
 fifteen horses, all under the leadership of the 
 buckskin. Now, Sam was a mule of consider- 
 able common-sense; he never disputed the 
 sovereignty of the stallion, but at the same time 
 he was fully sensible of his own strength and
 
 THE UNTAMED 
 
 fighting ability, having had occasion to test 
 the same frequently, and he had not the re- 
 motest intention of allowing any horse on the 
 range or other quadruped, to take undue liber- 
 ties. 
 
 As they came up from watering at a moun- 
 tain spring at high noon, the mustangs were 
 compelled to thread a narrow defile, and much 
 crowding resulted. A colt ricochetted from 
 the mule and lost his feet, whereupon the 
 mother made at Sam with her teeth. This 
 attack he ignored dexterously by bursting 
 through the press and imposing the bodies of 
 several horses between him and the indignant 
 mare; but when a youthful black took it into 
 his head that Sam was a recreant and could be 
 bullied with impunity, various things hap- 
 pened. By now, they were out in the open. 
 Trumpeting defiance, the black ran at him. 
 
 The combat did not last three minutes. It 
 is probable that the mule would have killed 
 his assailant when he lay prone after the third 
 30
 
 OL' SAM 
 
 onslaught, had not the leader trotted up in 
 royal wrath to quell the disorder in his follow- 
 ing. Should he go for him too, and reduce 
 him to pulp? Sam's eyes were glittering 
 evilly, and the mulish, enduring rage was alive, 
 but his habitual discretion cooled the impulse 
 and he gave ground, his ears laid back, his re- 
 treat reluctant. The stallion wisely let him 
 
 go- 
 Soon he attained to a species of leadership, 
 a vice-royalty under the reigning buckskin. 
 For one thing, his caution was tempered by 
 almost human powers of discrimination; for an- 
 other, he was never subject to the nervous trem- 
 ors to which even the stallion fell victim and 
 which were the inspiration of many stampedes. 
 Sam could sense peril as far as any and was 
 dubious, in a calm way, of everything he saw 
 until he had investigated; but sudden noises, 
 or a strange scent brought abruptly to his nos- 
 trils, did not send him flying over the country, 
 shrilling warnings. He made reasonably sure 
 31
 
 THE UNTAMED 
 
 of the possibility of danger before giving the 
 alarm. Of his old masters, he was peculiarly 
 wary, and twice at night, when they passed 
 within a mile of the round-up camp, the mule's 
 nose acquainted him of its proximity, and he 
 led them far to the west. 
 
 When the outfit had almost completed the 
 round-up, Sam wandered off from the band on 
 a morning's jaunt and came unexpectedly upon 
 the remuda in a draw. The wrangler espied 
 that unmistakable gait from afar and spurred 
 desperately to catch him, but the mule was fleet 
 as a greyhound and could not be headed. Two 
 of the horses followed the fallen one. They 
 knew Sam and respected him, and what was 
 good enough for him would suit them admir- 
 ably. Maclovio did not see their departure; 
 madly scurrying from point to point to herd 
 the restless horses, he failed to perceive the 
 flight toward the gap, and it was only when 
 the roping began after dinner that the loss was 
 discovered. The Mexican prayed inwardly
 
 OL' SAM 
 
 that Sam would break a leg and die by inches; 
 if he would only break his neck, he would buy 
 a dozen candles for the altar at Tucalari. 
 
 Old Pete McVey, the manager, sat on the 
 stoop of the bunkhouse at headquarters and 
 made a solemn vow to the skies. 
 
 "I'll hunt down every last one of that bunch 
 and hang Sam's hide to the saddle-shed. 
 We've had two breakdowns with the wagon 
 since he left that ol' mule we got from Dog- 
 hole ain't no good, Mit and now two horses 
 have run off." 
 
 "I done told Uncle Henery and Dave that 
 I felt shore it was Sam or some of them mus- 
 tangs that stompeded those steers last week." 
 
 "When I get him, the ol' fool!" burst out 
 the manager. 
 
 He organized a hunt, and with three men 
 and four staghounds set out cheerily to wipe 
 the wild horses from the face of the earth. 
 The band winded them two miles away and 
 carried the hunt to another range, but at last 
 33
 
 THE UNTAMED 
 
 they crept within striking distance, and the 
 chase was on. 
 
 Sam knew the dogs and had seen them run in 
 sport about headquarters. Therefore, he let 
 himself out and led the band beside the buck- 
 skin stallion, and for mile after mile they 
 raced. A laggard was pulled down, the an- 
 cient sinner Pete a hound leaped for his nose 
 and Pete turned a somersault. McVey him- 
 self shot the injured animal, and they camped 
 in the neighborhood and took up the pursuit 
 next morning. 
 
 It was a famous hunt. The dogs brought 
 down four animals, and the Lazy L men, tir- 
 ing in the chase, fired after the fugitives, kill- 
 ing three; but Sam remained ever in the van, 
 unhurt. McVey led his men back, satisfied 
 that the mustangs would seek new haunts, 
 swearing vengefully at Sam and rejoicing in 
 his heart that the giant mule had won to 
 safety. 
 
 The band wintered in the mountains, and 
 34
 
 OL' SAM 
 
 more than once during those terrible months 
 the emaciated Hell-on- Wheels had to paw 
 down through three inches of snow to get at 
 the grass, and he obtained little more than 
 enough to sustain life. Several of the colts 
 succumbed to a three-days' storm, and when 
 spring was ushered in, with a soft wind that 
 whispered tender promises to a stricken land, 
 at least a dozen of the horses and mares were 
 sickly. As for Sam, he was only hungry. A 
 mule seems immune from disease, and hunger 
 and thirst cannot wreak the havoc on his iron 
 constitution that they create among the more 
 sensitive horses. The mustangs ranged widely 
 in a quest for good pasture and at last worked 
 down to the Lazy L. 
 
 Dave had put in the cold months in dis- 
 pirited fashion, there being little to do. He 
 moped around headquarters, and whenever the 
 wagon boss ventured to consult him on prep- 
 arations for the spring round-up, the cook 
 maintained a glum silence. It would be a bad 
 35
 
 THE UNTAMED 
 
 year, he was sure of that; they needn't expect 
 much of the calf crop. Far be it from him to 
 discourage any man, least of all McVey and 
 Uncle Henery, but he felt in his bones that ill 
 luck would attend them. What could be ex- 
 pected of a wagon team that would let him 
 mire down in Coyote Creek? The round-up 
 would be a farce. 
 
 "Them mustangs is back," Reb announced, 
 riding in from a winter camp. "I seen 'em 
 topping a mesa over near Lone Pine Spring." 
 
 "I'll give twenty dollars a head for 'em," de- 
 clared the manager, slowly removing the pipe 
 from his lips. 
 
 Nearly a score of punchers equipped them- 
 selves to earn the reward. Some failed even 
 to get trace of the band; others trailed them 
 for days, but never came in sight; Dick, Bob 
 Saunders and Maclovio got within half a mile 
 and with relays of horses applied themselves 
 to capture in a scientific way. They would 
 run those mustangs off their legs. In four 
 36
 
 OL' SAM 
 
 days they were back, with their mounts used up 
 and McVey to welcome them. 
 
 "That ol' mule kin smell us a mile," Dick 
 reported. "He always gives the alarm first. 
 And run? Jim-in-ee, the way that rascal kin 
 run!" 
 
 Dave listened and gloomed and finally took 
 a great resolution. He might just as well be 
 honest with himself the round-up would 
 never be the same without Sam. The cook had 
 been a cowhand in his time and he hadn't 
 trailed cattle up through the Panhandle for 
 nothing. Therefore he would not match his 
 speed against the wild horses. 
 
 "Say, Mister McVey, I want to git a month 
 off." 
 
 "Where're you going now? This isn't an- 
 other trip to Doghole?" 
 
 "I hoped you'd done forgot that," Dave an- 
 swered severely. "No, sir, I want to go and 
 git Hell-on- Wheels." 
 
 "How could you catch him? I've tried; all 
 37
 
 THE UNTAMED 
 
 the boys have tried. And you haven't ridden 
 in ten years." 
 
 "You let me try and you'll see." Dave tried 
 to draw in his waist and appear athletic as the 
 manager ran his eye over his two hundred and 
 fourteen pounds. 
 
 "You couldn't get that mule in a thousand 
 years. Unless" as an afterthought "you 
 spread breadpans all over the range and set 
 traps." 
 
 "There's where you're wrong, Mister Mc- 
 Vey, sir. I ain't rode much since I took to 
 cookin', but I'm pretty active. You gimme 
 that month and you'll see." 
 
 "Go ahead. I'd just as soon pay the re- 
 ward to you as to anybody else sooner." 
 
 Sam was the first of the band to sight the 
 enemy trudging through the sand of the plain 
 toward them. Far behind a burro followed, 
 led by another man on foot. This truly was 
 interesting. The mule advanced for a closer 
 inspection and the others awaited his verdict, 
 38
 
 OL' SAM 
 
 having implicit confidence in him as a sentinel. 
 Thus it happened that Dave gained to within 
 three hundred yards before Sam flagged his 
 tail and departed. The horses massed swiftly 
 into a compact body and followed, but they 
 did not run as they would have run from 
 mounted men. Instinctively they knew that 
 this thing on two legs could not catch them, so 
 it was at a swinging trot that they breasted 
 a hill. 
 
 On its crest the mustangs slowed down; 
 they dropped to a walk and turned to look 
 back at what pursued. There plodded old 
 Dave, apparently paying them no special at- 
 tention, but nevertheless coming in their direc- 
 tion. Once more Sam waited until the cook 
 came within shouting distance, then, the buck- 
 skin raising the alarm, they cantered off. 
 
 So it went all the afternoon. Dave made 
 
 no attempt to get close up with them; he did 
 
 not conceal his approach ; he did not stalk them; 
 
 and he was especially cautious not to alarm 
 
 39
 
 THE UNTAMED 
 
 to an extent that would send them fleeing 
 for miles. Instead, he was satisfied merely to 
 keep them in sight. Sometimes he paused to 
 wipe the sweat from his face and neck, but he 
 betrayed no impatience. Far behind a burro 
 followed, led by another man on foot, and 
 when the cook changed his course so did the 
 burro, still maintaining its distance. 
 
 Sam was sorely puzzled. That stout figure 
 possessed a peculiar attraction for him. When 
 he had put a considerable tract between himself 
 and it, he could not forbear to stop and watch 
 what it would do. Still it came on yet it was 
 not threatening. The mule's sense of danger 
 was lulled. And he was not the only per- 
 plexed member of the band: curiosity had the 
 stallion in its grip, too. There was not a horse 
 among the free rovers but would slacken gait 
 to ascertain where the foolish pursuer walked 
 now. 
 
 By the time the sun died behind a fringe 
 of hills, Sam and the others were horribly 
 40
 
 OL' SAM 
 
 thirsty. They swung around in a wide semi- 
 circle and struck for a lake six miles distant. 
 Dave followed. Hardly had they drunk half 
 their fill, standing waist-deep in the cooling 
 water, when the expectant mule warned them 
 of the approach of that shadowing figure. 
 They waded out and made off reluctantly. 
 
 The cook arrived two minutes later and 
 stretched out on his back on the edge of the 
 lake and thought with sweet sorrow of the days 
 when he weighed one hundred and sixty. 
 Presently the man with the burro joined him, 
 and they took down their bedding, staked out 
 the tireless pack-animal, built a fire of dried 
 broom weed, and ate. 
 
 "They won't go far from here to-night. It 
 jist happens there ain't any water nearer than 
 twenty miles. No-oo, I reckon they'll hang 
 round somewheres near," Dave observed, roll- 
 ing a cigarette. 
 
 He divined correctly. Sam and his compan- 
 ions discovered that they were hungry, very 
 41
 
 THE UNTAMED 
 
 hungry. While they did not realize it, they 
 had eaten little that afternoon, for no sooner 
 would they shake off the pursuer and fall to 
 nibbling nervously at the dried grass than he 
 would reappear, persistent as their own shad- 
 ows, and they would continue their flight. 
 Now he followed no more, and they must eat. 
 Eat they did to some extent, but a burning 
 curiosity and a vague uneasiness had seized 
 upon them. They felt irresistibly attracted by 
 the campfire that sparkled in the darkness 
 down by the water they craved; time after 
 time they would near it fearfully. Without 
 turning his head Dave knew that dozens of 
 wondering eyes surveyed him from the outer 
 rim of dark fifty yards away. 
 
 Before dawn the cook and his assistant had 
 made fast the burro's burden with the "dia- 
 mond hitch," and hard upon the coming of 
 light Dave started out alone. In an hour he 
 was in sight of the mustangs. Sam shook his 
 head in irritation and the band moved off 
 42
 
 OL' SAM 
 
 slowly. Dave followed. Far behind came a 
 burro, led by a man on foot. 
 
 He camped at noon in a stretch of alkali, and 
 because there was no water near they partook 
 sparingly of some the cook carried in tins slung 
 over the burro's load. As for the beast, he 
 must wait till nightfall, which did not worry 
 the burro in the least. Well Dave knew that 
 the mustangs must make for water. 
 
 A dozen times in a day the cook would be 
 out of view of the fugitives and a dozen times 
 he would catch up with them, disturbing their 
 intermittent grazing. It is doubtful if he 
 averaged more than twenty miles in twenty- 
 four hours; it is certain that the wild horses 
 covered nearly three times that distance in 
 their outbursts of panic and their doublings 
 back on the pursuer. The chase led in a tri- 
 angle that took in all the water-holes within a 
 radius of ninety miles, and almost always Dave 
 contrived to arrive before the band had got 
 quite their fill. 
 
 43
 
 THE UNTAMED 
 
 Sam had lost at least a hundred pounds by 
 the end of a week and was become gaunt and 
 savage. Several of the colts, only a few 
 months old, gave up the flight and their moth- 
 ers forsook the band in safety, the pursuers 
 ignoring them. The others kept on. Sam's 
 contempt for the slow crawling thing behind 
 them was changing to a haunting dread, and 
 he became subject to petty fits of irritation. 
 Why couldn't the enemy come on boldly? 
 Why couldn't he match his speed with theirs 
 in one grand rush? But no, there he was, pa- 
 tiently legging it through the sand, through 
 grass, over foothills, up mountain trails, 
 through gorges, down into valleys. A hor- 
 rible fascination took possession of the mule. 
 Had Dave turned about to retrace his steps, 
 it is probable that Sam would have followed 
 out of curiosity to see where he was going; but 
 Dave still came on. 
 
 About this time, too, they got a taste of real 
 summer. From an empty sky the sun smote 
 44
 
 OL' SAM 
 
 the land, browning the hills, crisping the grass 
 in the valleys until it crackled into dust. First 
 one mountain stream ceased to run, then an- 
 other; a creek that used to sweep down in a 
 torrent after the spring rains now dribbled 
 among scorching boulders. Thus came about 
 the beginning of the end. 
 
 "They cain't stand more'n another week of 
 this, Charlie," Dave remarked, as they camped 
 beside a hatful of water in the foothills. 
 
 "I reckon not. Did you notice some of 
 them mares? They's all in. You got within 
 fifty yards of 'em once to-day, Dave. The 
 burro here has kep' up well. Ain't you, you 
 greedy devil? She's looking fine. I'm giving 
 her corn." 
 
 Never did the mustangs get enough to eat. 
 Another sort of madness than the madness for 
 liberty was laying hold of Sam. His days 
 consisted of timid attempts at grazing, from 
 which he would start at the lightest sound ; of 
 enforced pilgrimages from one pasture to an- 
 45
 
 THE UNTAMED 
 
 other; and it must have been four hundred 
 hours since he had had his fill of water. More 
 than once, in a frenzy of revolt, he put five 
 miles between him and his clinging disturber; 
 but after two hours of uneasy nibbling he would 
 be interrupted once again and again must 
 move on. What food he got failed to nourish 
 as it should, and the rest he snatched was not 
 rest. In the night, when he might have lost 
 his foe, the mule knew well that he was near, 
 for there in the blackness his fire sent up its 
 sparks and it drew him and his companions like 
 a magnet. ~No matter where they roamed, the 
 cook managed to spend the dark hours near 
 water, and the band could not tear themselves 
 from the vicinity. 
 
 There came a day when Sam's ribs showed 
 pitifully through his rough coat and he shuffled 
 along in desperate dejection, his ears flopping. 
 A heavy fatigue numbed his limbs, made cruel 
 weights of them, and he was thirsty, deliriously 
 thirsty; but if his plight was bad, that of the 
 46
 
 OL' SAM 
 
 mustangs was worse. They stumbled cough- 
 ing through the dust, too tired to lift their 
 feet. Occasionally one broke into a half- 
 hearted trot which survived only a few steps. 
 The race was run. 
 
 Within six hours the band began to break 
 up. First the mares and colts dropped out, 
 careless of what might befall. The mothers 
 went weakly to feeding on the burnt grass, 
 their offspring hovering near in the last stages 
 of exhaustion; but to these Dave paid no at- 
 tention. He was after Hell-on- Wheels, and 
 he did not intend to inject new life into the 
 jaded survivors by the slaughter of their beaten 
 companions. By his orders Charlie, too, ig- 
 nored them, though his fingers itched as his 
 mind dwelt on the reward. 
 
 Four of the horses lagged, staggered for- 
 ward a few paces and fell behind, spent, sway- 
 ing dizzily as they moved aside to let Dave 
 pass. They were oblivious to everything now, 
 insensible to peril, scarcely able to discern ob- 
 4.7.
 
 THE UNTAMED 
 
 jects through their glazed eyes; but Sam and 
 the stallion and some few kept on. Dave 
 followed. 
 
 Hot rebellion surged up in the mule more 
 than once, sapping his last ounce of spirit. Up 
 would go his head in defiance and he would in- 
 crease his lead; but the strength was ebbing 
 from the wonderful muscles of him; he was sick 
 at heart and wanted to lie down. Ahead, per- 
 haps an hour's walk, he knew there was water. 
 He must reach that. Would this thing that 
 hung to their rear never give them respite? 
 
 Dave trudged now only twenty yards back. 
 He was footsore, a fearful weariness was upon 
 him and the heat was awful. Yet no thought 
 of giving up occurred to his mind ; his patience 
 was unfailing. Not once did he do a hurried 
 thing to alarm the quarry. 
 
 It was the twenty-fourth day. All around 
 them stretched a desert of alkali broken by 
 patches of tree-cactus and clumps of bear- 
 grass, and through the white, chalky dust Sam 
 toiled dispiritedly a dozen yards in front of 
 48
 
 What you mean by running off this a-way ? "
 
 OL' SAM 
 
 the stallion. Behind the faltering buckskin 
 limped five skeletons of horses, and ten yards 
 behind the hindermost walked Dave. There 
 was no need that Charlie remain far in rear. 
 The mustangs did not notice him, and he fol- 
 lowed close with the burro. 
 
 The rovers had drunk deep that morning at 
 a spring on the edge of the desert this being 
 as Dave would have it and now all vigor of 
 body and spirit had departed. Sam's head 
 swung low to the ground, his knees were shak- 
 ing and he saw nothing of what he passed. 
 To his bloodshot eyes these scorched wastes 
 were a wavering mist, and he knew only that 
 he must go on. 
 
 Suddenly, as though by telepathic agree- 
 ment, the weird procession halted. Sam 
 turned. He faced the cook as he came up 
 without hesitation, rope in hand. Dave slipped 
 the noose about his neck and rubbed the dusty 
 muzzle sunk against his hip. 
 
 "You ol* fool, you!" he mouthed at him. 
 "What you mean by running off this a- way? 
 49
 
 THE UNTAMED 
 
 Didn't you know that team weren't no good 
 without you? What did you reckon I was go- 
 ing to do, you pore ol' son-of-a-gun?" 
 
 He ran his eye over the emaciated body ; then 
 his glance fell to his own shrunken outline. 
 
 "I reckon we're both some thinner, Sam. 
 And my feet's awful sore. What you need is 
 corn. Here, Charlie, gimme that 'morale'!" 
 
 Staked out with the nosebag over his head, 
 the mule munched dully on the life-giving 
 grain, while Dave prepared dinner and Charlie 
 moved from point to point on the plain with 
 a rifle, earning half a month's pay every time 
 he got near a horse. Charlie began to figure 
 he would be a rich cowman some day. 
 
 Two hours later the men were smoking in 
 the peace and content of hard work well done, 
 when Sam walked stiffly to the end of his rope. 
 By straining on it he could just reach the 
 edge of the campfire. Dave rose up on his 
 elbow. 
 
 "Hi, there! Git your nose out'n that pan, 
 you rascal! I swan, he's hunting for bread." 
 50
 
 II 
 
 THE MARAUDER 
 
 SIX frowsy buzzards sat on a tree and 
 made mock of his hunger. With his 
 bushy tail drooping dismally between his 
 legs, he zigzagged his way up the wide, dry 
 bed of Red River, flitting from cover to cover 
 like an uneasy ghost. Up one steep bank he 
 sidled, to squat on his haunches, whence he sur- 
 veyed the camp hungrily. 
 
 "There's a big ol' kiyote," said the hoodlum 
 driver. "Git your gun, Dave." 
 
 The cook abandoned the washpan with alac- 
 rity and ransacked the chuck-wagon for his 
 weapon. When he rejoined Mac the coyote 
 was still in view, but he seemed farther away. 
 "He done moved. I cain't hit him from 
 here," said the cook. 
 
 51
 
 THE UNTAMED 
 
 "I been watching him and he ain't budged. 
 Yes, he has, too. I'll swan, I never seen him 
 do it." 
 
 The prairie wolf now sat a good three hun- 
 dred yards away, his back to the camp, as 
 though indifferent and contemptuous of it. 
 Dave knelt on one heel, took slow, careful aim, 
 and fired. A spurt of sand five yards short of 
 the coyote was the result. The animal half 
 turned his head, the sensitive upper lip quiv- 
 ered and curled over the wicked fangs, for all 
 the world like a sneer, and then he resumed his 
 placid scrutiny of nothing. Mac forcibly re- 
 moved the rifle from Dave's grasp, deaf to his 
 picturesque explanation of the miss, adjusted 
 the sight and lay down. 
 
 "You had it sighted for a hunderd yards," 
 he rebuked. "I put her up a few notches." 
 
 "Whee-ee-ee," whined a snub-nosed leaden 
 
 pellet. A spurt of sand five yards beyond the 
 
 coyote was the result. It aroused the animal 
 
 to instant activity. If he was not beyond 
 
 52
 
 THE MARAUDER 
 
 range, then the wagon had a better gun than 
 he had ever met with, so he glided away like a 
 shadow. 
 
 "There goes two dollars bounty," sighed the 
 cook regretfully. "That's just what I done 
 lost to Jack, shootin' craps last night." 
 
 "Where's that nester's ol' dog that was 
 smelling round the pots this morning?" Mac 
 demanded. "There he goes now. Hi-yi, ol' 
 feller! Go git him, boy! Go to him!" 
 
 A yellow mongrel, half shepherd and a mix- 
 ture of other breeds, abandoned his slinking 
 tour of the camp and became at once a re- 
 spectable, alert dog, with a job. He sighted 
 the fleeing coyote, and, giving tongue, fol- 
 lowed after. 
 
 "He won't never catch him. Those lil* ol' 
 ki-yotes kin outrun a streak of lightning, and 
 stop to sleep a-doing it," said Mac. 
 
 It was evident that the pursuit did not worry 
 the fugitive greatly. He loped along easily,' 
 with the dog gaining at every frantic leap until 
 53
 
 THE UNTAMED 
 
 a scant yard separated them, when, still main- 
 taining his careless gait, the coyote veered to 
 the south; and yet the distance between them 
 did not diminish. The dog was blowing and 
 puffing throaty threats, while the wolf watched 
 him out of the corner of one eye. With a 
 mad burst of speed the cur gained a yard, 
 whereupon something happened. Without 
 appearing to strain himself at all, the coyote 
 simply disappeared from view over the next 
 rise. The dog had seen a pepper-and-salt, 
 gray streak flash over the crest, but that was 
 all. He stopped in a dazed sort of way to 
 figure the matter out. 
 
 While he was figuring, a f oxlike head poked 
 itself over a clump of bear-grass and the coyote 
 yawned in his face. Once more the chase was 
 on, with redoubled fury. 
 
 This was an old game to Scartoe. He had 
 raced all sorts of dogs, from collie to fox ter- 
 rier, and only once, when a greyhound ran 
 him, had he stood in danger. Greatly to his 
 54
 
 THE MARAUDER 
 
 chagrin and alarm on that occasion, he had 
 been forced to switch the lithe pursuer unex- 
 pectedly into a barb-wire division- fence, to save 
 his hide. As he ran now he was studying this 
 loud-voiced antagonist of the yellow hair. 
 Whatever he saw, the result was wholly sur- 
 prising. He increased his lead by ten yards, 
 then whirled about and sat down, at which the 
 dog plowed up the ground for five feet in 
 a panic-stricken effort to put on the brakes, 
 and promptly changed his course. Still 
 growling, he trotted away toward a cactus far 
 to the left, as though suddenly made aware of 
 something extremely interesting to be found 
 there. 
 
 The coyote's lip flickered, and he walked to 
 the sandy sides of a ravine. With a final look 
 back from its top, he descended leisurely ; then, 
 once in the creek bed, glided at top speed in 
 an opposite direction. He was bound home- 
 ward. 
 
 All of which goes to show the delicacy of 
 55
 
 THE UNTAMED 
 
 coyote judgment and the depths of his knowl- 
 edge of human and canine nature. For there 
 are dogs which will close on a coyote and kill 
 him at the first opportunity and with no hesi- 
 tation. Pluck does not run exclusively in 
 breeds, and individual dogs of all kinds have 
 been known to go for the prairie thief at sight, 
 and even for the redoubtable lobo; but others 
 there are which will shirk a tussle with this 
 scorned of the wolf tribe, this scavenger and 
 outcast of the wild. And a coyote, being low- 
 est in the ranks of those obsessed of fear, is the 
 readiest to detect cowardice in others; more- 
 over, he has the cunning to profit by it. 
 
 Enjoyable as this little breather had been, it 
 had not provided the meal for which he was 
 searching. Rather it had whetted the gnaw- 
 ing demand for it and the prospect of obtain- 
 ing anything seemed more remote than ever, 
 because he had builded some hopes on scraps 
 from the camp. Scartoe eased to a walk not 
 the brisk, firm patter of the dog, but a sneak- 
 56
 
 THE MARAUDER 
 
 ing, apologetic, tortuous gait, that was yet 
 swift and wonderfully noiseless. 
 
 Prairie dogs there were none, though he 
 scour the length and breadth of six hundred 
 square miles. Poison had done its work thor- 
 oughly and only the empty holes remained, 
 half grown over with grass and weeds, a con- 
 stant menace to horsemen. Of ground squir- 
 rel there were a few, and at certain seasons the 
 sage grouse furnished him succulent meals; 
 but these were trifles, after all, and it took 
 infinite patience and stealth to secure them. 
 
 Scartoe crept slantwise up a ridge and took 
 a look around. The sun beat down on a land 
 it had desolated. Where creeks had been were 
 now gorges of baked clay; a long stretch of 
 sage-grass was white with dust and crackling; 
 large fissures dumbly voiced the parched 
 ground's protests; the bear-grass and cactus 
 showed scrawny and dried; and above this 
 scorched land rose a canopy of jumbled white 
 clouds, magnificent, matchless. A score or 
 57
 
 THE UNTAMED 
 
 two of lean cattle were browsing on the slopes, 
 nibbling the long, yellow bean pods from mes- 
 quite trees, but of other signs of life there were 
 none, save the scurrying green and blue and 
 golden-brown lizards, which darted from stone 
 to stone at amazing speed. 
 
 And this had been the style of his hunting 
 for weeks, so that he was gaunt and desperate. 
 Nothing in all the world in the shape of meat, 
 except creatures so large and strong he dare 
 not attack. Nothing hjs restless eyes be- 
 came riveted on a bush not fifty yards to his 
 right. Surely something had stirred there. 
 His nose was thrust forward to give his ex- 
 traordinarily strong sense of smell a chance, 
 and it told him what his eyes were unable 
 wholly to define. There was a calf behind that 
 bush. 
 
 His famished stomach drove him forward, 
 
 while his natural cowardice whispered caution. 
 
 It was plain to him that the calf was very 
 
 young. Otherwise he would have wanted the 
 
 58
 
 THE MARAUDER 
 
 assistance of a brother marauder. Even now, 
 however, those cattle grazing on the slopes 
 haunted him, but a fleeting glance over the im- 
 mediate vicinity assured him the prey was un- 
 guarded. So he stole forward. His advance 
 was a miracle of furtive effort, and such was 
 the beast's inherited cunning that, quite uncon- 
 sciously, he took advantage of spots where his 
 color blended so harmoniously with the rough 
 ground that wolf and rock and shrub were in- 
 distinguishable. 
 
 The gods of little calves must have been 
 wide-awake that day; else what could have 
 prompted the youngster to stir and lift his 
 head? He had heard no sound; no scent had 
 reached his nostrils. The coyote was too old 
 a hand at stalking for that. A pair of round, 
 fear-distended eyes were turned toward the 
 terrible thing that shot through space straight 
 for his neck, and a plaintive bawl was cut short 
 in the middle. That was because the calf got 
 into action action quicker than any in his life 
 59
 
 THE UNTAMED 
 
 of three weeks. He lurched upward and de- 
 parted, minus the left ear. The beast snarled 
 and turned to pursue, but a noise diverted him. 
 Like a man waking from a dream, the coyote 
 caught, too late, the rush of hoofs. He shrank 
 aside, but not far enough. The mother's horns 
 caught him above the shoulder and ripped him 
 to the flank, tossing him five feet into the air. 
 When he came down he tarried not, but, 
 bloody, torn and mad with fear, sought the 
 safety of his canon retreat. 
 
 His wife and five babies were awaiting him. 
 He had been out all night on his prowl for 
 food, and it was now three hours after sunup, 
 the hour when, ordinarily, he would be stretched 
 out on a sunny knoll, taking a nap in the con- 
 tent of a full stomach. A score of yards from 
 the den his nose told him that the family had 
 fed, so he came trotting down the rocky creek- 
 bed, stiffly expectant. The tiny, furry, broad- 
 headed pups were snarling and tugging at the 
 remnants of a meal and, hungry though he 
 60
 
 -'The wolf drove away a couple of buzzards and fell upon 
 this savagelt,"
 
 THE MARAUDER 
 
 was, he paused to watch them with a certain 
 fatherly pride. Then, at a growl from his 
 mate, he slunk forth again on his quest. His 
 wound smarted, but did not cripple him, and 
 hunger was a spur. 
 
 He found what his wife had said he would 
 find, the remains of the offal of a heifer which 
 the outfit had killed the previous day for food. 
 Luckier in her search, the mother coyote had 
 come upon the abandoned camp late the pre- 
 vious night, though it was ten miles from home 
 and she disliked such distant hunting; and, 
 having fed, she had carried a huge strip of the 
 entrails to her babies. The wolf drove away a 
 couple of buzzards and fell upon this savagely; 
 and, having gorged, sat down to lick his cut. 
 In a few minutes he moved painfully on the 
 back trail, for his hurts were stiffening. 
 
 The family home was a simple affair, such as 
 
 the original families of human kind might have 
 
 begun life with. Anything provided with an 
 
 olf actor could ascertain its propinquity at a dis- 
 
 61 I
 
 THE UNTAMED 
 
 tance of forty yards, for it gave off the sting- 
 ing, musty odor of the wolf tribe. There 
 were also numerous faint trails hard by, some 
 of them blind trails, contrived cunningly to 
 draw the stupid hunter astray. The gen- 
 uine paths led into a broader, clearly-defined 
 one which ended in a hole about two feet square 
 in the wall of an arroyo, and this entrance was 
 concealed from the casual observer by a scrub- 
 cedar that clung to a precarious foothold and 
 subsisted on nothing. No water had come 
 down this channel in generations and they felt 
 safe on that score. 
 
 The hallway of the home was little more 
 than a yard long. It led into a den whereto 
 no light penetrated a hollowed space per- 
 haps two and a half feet high, and large 
 enough for the head of the house to turn 
 around in. There were also some ramifica- 
 tions to it, four smaller cells dug out in the 
 same fashion, and out of one of these another 
 passage led upward. It came out on top of 
 62
 
 THE MARAUDER 
 
 the embankment, twenty feet away; for Scar- 
 toe was a cautious rascal and had no intention 
 of letting his domicile become a trap. He de- 
 sired it to be a haven and, therefore, he had 
 selected a residence with a back door, though 
 most of his tribe contented themselves with 
 an entrance. 
 
 This caution was habitual with him and was 
 the child of experience. Experience had 
 taught him some bitter lessons and had given 
 him his name. For, in the spring of the year 
 when he reached his full height and was filled 
 with conceit of his strength, a famine threat- 
 ened. The wolf ranged far and got nothing. 
 Hitherto suspicious of the haunts of men, he 
 overcame his fears at last and raided the ranch 
 headquarters and came away with a lusty young 
 rooster. Next night he attempted to repeat 
 this feat, and while nosing the skeleton of a 
 cow lying close to the home pasture fence, 
 something snapped over his foot. A numbing 
 pain shot through him. When he bounded 
 63
 
 THE UNTAMED 
 
 high and backward to clear, he was jerked to 
 the ground. 
 
 Clasped like a vise about his toes was a steel 
 trap, a mercilessly powerful contraption of 
 chains, weighted with two hundred pounds. 
 It had him, but fortunately his leg was not 
 caught. In his frenzy of terror, freedom 
 was worth any sacrifice or pain. He sank his 
 teeth into his own flesh and gnawed his toes 
 off, and holding the bleeding stump up in 
 front of him, fled on three legs. Not a sound 
 did he make during his agony. It was not 
 pluck, but a stoicism begot of fear. Had he 
 whined, a charge of buckshot would have ended 
 his days; for the cook dozed fitfully behind a 
 woodpile fifty yards away. 
 
 When the foot grew well he was a trifle short 
 in the left foreleg; but it made scarcely any 
 difference in his gait. The only difference 
 was in the trail he made, and from that he was 
 known as Scartoe. 
 
 The hurt the cow gave him healed with as- 
 64
 
 THE MARAUDER 
 
 tonishing rapidity, for sunlight and dry air are 
 Nature's magicians. While taking a siesta in 
 front of his den next afternoon and tenderly 
 licking the ragged wound, he was witness of 
 a strange encounter. His pups were frisking 
 about, tumbling and growling and snapping in 
 youthful enjoyment of life, while the mother 
 lay beside him, encouraging these evidences of 
 prospective adult ferocity. 
 
 At the foot of the knoll whereon they re- 
 posed, something rose, wavering, with a fear- 
 thrilling rattle, and the pups scattered. At 
 the same moment a sharp hiss answered this 
 first challenge. With eyes glowing and ears 
 cocked, husband and wife waited for the battle 
 between these enemies. 
 
 A dark green reptile with cream-colored 
 bands, about forty inches in length, was cir- 
 cling a rattler. The latter lay coiled, ready to 
 strike, his folds curling and uncurling in long 
 ripples as his head turned to follow the move- 
 ments of his enemy. Fully six feet in length 
 65
 
 THE UNTAMED 
 
 he was and of a prodigious thickness ; but fear 
 had already entered the heart of him. The 
 king-snake sped around him with the speed of 
 light; once, twice, thrice the rattler launched 
 a blow, but there was no foe there. Then 
 the malignant killer was on him. 
 
 A king-snake is immune from the rattler's 
 poison and wages constant warfare on all rep- 
 tiles. Such is the steel-wire strength of his 
 coils that the size of an adversary never daunts 
 him for an instant. He will tackle a snake 
 twice his size and weight, and he will kill him, 
 too. It was all over in a few minutes. Round 
 and round his victim he folded himself; each 
 second the pressure increased. There was 
 some desperate flaying of the ground as the 
 combatants struggled, for the enemy of all 
 brute creation was righting for his life. When 
 he lay dead, the king-snake let go and tried to 
 swallow him. He did, in fact, get him half 
 down, but the practical difficulty in the way 
 of surrounding an object larger than one's 
 66
 
 THE MARAUDER 
 
 self triumphed over his appetite. So he gave 
 up the attempt and the reptile. 
 
 "Bow-wow ! Ki-yi, yeow-eow - eow - eow- 
 eow." 
 
 Scartoe stood on a butte, with his nose point- 
 ing to the moon, his tail between his legs, and 
 weirdly gave vent to his feelings in song. It 
 began with two short barks and trailed into a 
 succession of piercing, reverberating yelps, 
 that melted into one another and rolled and 
 echoed, as by the ventriloquist's art, until the 
 night grew hideous with the clamor. One 
 would have sworn that a hundred coyotes held 
 the hill, and were indulging in some funereal 
 close-harmony. 
 
 This was his evensong. It came welling from 
 his throat in a flood, in spite of him, and the coy- 
 ote could no more control the impulse, the in- 
 heritance of ages, than a man can choke back 
 the hiccoughs. His stomach would retch and 
 his neck muscles work in the throes of it 
 67
 
 THE UNTAMED 
 
 until the song was released. Once again, in 
 the course of twenty-four hours, did the im- 
 pulse seize him. Just before the sun crept 
 over the edge of the world his nose would be 
 tilted toward the gray vault of heaven. 
 
 ' 'Bow-wow ! Ki-yi, y eow-eow - eow - eow- 
 eow!" 
 
 He desisted at last and, considerably up- 
 lifted, departed on his hunt for food. A score 
 of his fellows he met in his prowling, some hunt- 
 ing in couples; but Scartoe was a family man 
 and a lone marauder, and would have none of 
 them. In the half million acres composing 
 the ranch were fully four hundred of his breth- 
 ren. This in spite of a once vigorous warfare, 
 in which poison and trap and gun and dog had 
 been the weapons. In the last three years the 
 campaign against the coyotes had waned, 
 though each head would bring the taker a 
 bounty at the county-seat and another at head- 
 quarters. 
 
 It is not to be wondered at that the thieves 
 68
 
 THE MARAUDER 
 
 became arrogant and venturesome. They rev- 
 eled in their depredations and pitted their 
 keen wits against man's intelligence with in- 
 creasing boldness. What if twenty thousand 
 of their brethren had been killed in the pre- 
 vious twelvemonth, in the national forest pre- 
 serves alone? Many times twenty thousand 
 survived in the cattle country; and official es- 
 timate gives it that each coyote does damage to 
 stock to the amount of one hundred dollars an- 
 nually. Scartoe must have passed, on the 
 silent trails in his night hunt, the destroyers of 
 ten thousand dollars' worth of stock in a year. 
 Once he paused in a patch of broomweed 
 to send his doleful cry to the stars. It gur- 
 gled from his throat like water from a bottle. 
 He gave tongue no more that night. From 
 the mouth of a canon, far to his right, sounded 
 a long-drawn howl, plaintive, threatening. 
 Hardly had it ceased than a piercing scream 
 broke from a hackberry tree within a hundred 
 yards of where Scartoe crouched. Truly the 
 69
 
 THE UNTAMED 
 
 lords of the wilds were abroad to-night; but it 
 was not the panther's cry which drove Scartoe 
 from the trail. What' he was giving right-of- 
 way to was the lobo. 
 
 The coyote drew off a short distance and 
 sank humbly to earth as a loafer wolf came 
 running out of the shadows. He was a huge 
 fellow, almost red along the back, gray as to 
 his underbody, and he loped purposefully, bent 
 on slaughter. Scartoe sank lower and grov- 
 eled. In imagination he was fawning upon 
 this mighty creature that inspired him with 
 dread and respect; for, though of the same 
 race, they were far apart as the poles. He 
 knew the magnificent courage of the loafer 
 and, when the King hunted, to him belonged 
 the trail. 
 
 He watched him go by, and once more 
 wended his devious way across country. A 
 nice little scheme had hatched in his brain as 
 he lay there, born of a long-time feud. Forty 
 turkeys, eighty chickens and nineteen cocks 
 70
 
 THE MARAUDER 
 
 were now to his credit; to the credit of the 
 ranch-house cook stood the toes of his left fore- 
 leg. One turkey-gobbler remained that he 
 knew with accuracy, and Scartoe speculated 
 pleasurably thereon. 
 
 Had he been a human being, he would have 
 laughed as he slid under the outer barb-wire 
 fence at headquarters. Ten paces away he 
 had scented the handiwork of man. Sprinkle 
 and smooth the sand as he might, set bait and 
 lay trap ever so cunningly, the cook could not 
 foil that marvelous instinct. There were but 
 two holes by which Scartoe could enter the 
 pen; before he started he was well aware that 
 a trap lay in each. Approaching one, three 
 feet from it, he scratched loose stones and 
 earth behind him in a shower on a spot which 
 looked too smooth and inviting to his eye and 
 where his nose told him a man had fussed with 
 his hands. 
 
 At last he was rewarded. A stick he rolled 
 over touched the spring, and the steel jaws 
 71
 
 THE UNTAMED 
 
 leaped together with a clash. He proceeded 
 to dig all around the trap until it was wholly 
 exposed, after which he gave a disdainful sniff 
 and jumped over it. Thirty seconds later he 
 emerged from the pen bearing a fine, fat gob- 
 bler, and away he went, careless of the trail of 
 feathers his dragging prey made. 
 
 "You-all kin see for yourself what he done," 
 cried the cook, gloriously profane, next morn- 
 ing. "He knowed that was there all the time 
 and simply sprung it. Got that lil' ol' gob- 
 bler, too ; last one I had." 
 
 "Ki-yotes is shore smart," the straw boss 
 agreed. "Smart as humans, I reckon." 
 
 "Smart as humans?" the cook retorted con- 
 temptuously. "Why, ol' Dick is a human." 
 
 "That's so," said the straw boss thought- 
 fully. "Well, they's smarter, then; smart as 
 a good hoss." 
 
 "That ol' ki-yote and me's been fighting for 
 three years. I near had him once; but he 
 done chawed his foot off they's that treacher- 
 72
 
 THE MARAUDER 
 
 ous. Only last week I done set a rooster in 
 that mesquite tree there, and put traps all 
 around. He had to step in one to git that 
 bird. Know what he done?" The cook's 
 voice rose to a howl. "I'll eat my shirt if he 
 didn't go off and git a friend, who sprung the 
 trap and got caught. Yes, sir. Then oF 
 Scartoe, he done jump in and got the rooster." 
 
 "Ever try poison?" 
 
 "Won't touch it. He kin smell strych-nine 
 farther'n he kin see. Ate some once and 
 near died, I reckon, for I seen the place where 
 he was took sick. Every trap I set, he just 
 scratches stones or sticks on to it until he 
 springs the thing." 
 
 The straw boss, riding to a division camp the 
 next day, came upon Scartoe trying to imitate 
 a rock as he slept on the brow of a hill. The 
 rider had no gun, but got down his rope and 
 rode toward the sleeper carelessly, so as not 
 to alarm him. The coyote let him approach 
 within thirty yards, then awoke to yawn; but 
 73
 
 THE UNTAMED 
 
 he was wrong in his estimate of the straw 
 boss, because that worthy gentleman, hot with 
 the memory of the recent indignity, let out a 
 whoop and gave chase. Before he could warm 
 up into anything like his usual form, a rope 
 sped through the air and encircled Scartoe's 
 neck. 
 
 Now, there are three rules to observe in rop- 
 ing coyotes. The first is not to rope them, and 
 the other two do not matter. A noose was 
 nothing new to Scartoe and he knew the parry. 
 Before it could tighten and jerk him into eter- 
 nity, he took one slashing bite at it and the rope 
 parted, cut clean. Next moment the coyote 
 had mingled with the scenery. 
 
 He was a serious-minded animal, yet he per- 
 mitted himself some diversions. When his 
 wife found the remains of the beef, Scartoe 
 realized that there was a round-up in progress, 
 which meant food in plenty, and he took to fol- 
 lowing the outfit from camp to camp, singing 
 to them about nine o'clock every night and 
 74
 
 THE MARAUDER 
 
 again before the dawn. They showed their ap- 
 preciation by taking pot shots at him with a 
 .30-30; but he bore a charmed life. He 
 managed to pick up much good meat by this 
 association, too, for the outfit killed a heifer 
 every other day and left enough to feed half 
 a dozen coyotes. Sometimes he had to scare 
 away foolish cows or steers, which, attracted 
 by the smell of blood, would be holding moan- 
 ing wakes over the remains; and always he 
 had to be on the watch for the buzzards or they 
 would forestall him. 
 
 Lightly footing it about camp one night, he 
 startled a work-horse, himself a night prowler, 
 bent on stealing buns from the chuck-wagon 
 which he helped to haul during the day. A 
 coyote would never attack a horse, placing 
 too much value on his life, but this beast 
 was a young, inexperienced creature and did 
 not know that. With a snort of dismay, he 
 dashed off. Pleased with himself, Scartoe 
 gave chase in pure sport, precisely as a playful 
 75
 
 THE UNTAMED 
 
 dog might have done. Twice around the camp 
 they ran, then through it, stampeding eleven 
 staked horses and smashing the guy-ropes of 
 the fly, which fell on the cook, who never 
 claimed to be a Christian and had no fears of 
 an after-life. 
 
 The punchers awoke, cursing volubly, and 
 one of them, sleeping remote from the others 
 on the edge of camp, shied a boot at the wolf. 
 He stopped in his run, smelled of it, then bore 
 it homeward. It would make a fine plaything 
 for the babies. The puncher rode twenty- 
 seven miles to headquarters next day, in his 
 socks, to get a new pair of boots. 
 
 Four months passed thus pleasurably. 
 Sometimes the family nearly starved, at oth- 
 ers the puppies sagged in the middle from 
 overeating. Always there were bones and 
 odds and ends of hides old Scartoe had hidden 
 away to gnaw on in moments of leisure, but 
 they made poor stays to hunger. 
 
 When winter shut down on the land Scartoe 
 76
 
 THE MARAUDER 
 
 got rid of wife and children. He simply wan- 
 dered off when the puppies grew big enough 
 to care for themselves; and he found another 
 home in an isolated ravine. In the cold nights 
 that followed he took to consorting with other 
 bachelors, roving spirits all. Very often they 
 hunted in bands. They were few in number, 
 because it is not coyote nature to run in packs, 
 but this union gave them strength and made 
 them infinitely more dangerous. Two score 
 times they stalked and killed lonely, unpro- 
 tected calves. 
 
 Later, they were so hard put to it for food 
 that courage was born in them. One night 
 four surrounded an eight-months'-old steer one 
 of them would never have tackled singly, and 
 slew him. It was Scartoe who devised the 
 plan that the three should run him by a bush, 
 behind which he crouched. It was Scartoe 
 who leapt swiftly, unerringly, for the nose 
 and brought him down. And it was he who 
 got the lion's share of the spoils. 
 77
 
 THE UNTAMED 
 
 Yet they were cowards for all that. A 
 coyote is always a coward, even when driven 
 frantic by hunger. 
 
 With the storm kings holding sway, their 
 foraging became less and less fruitful. Sev- 
 eral of his race departed for new hunting 
 grounds, but Scartoe stayed in his own domain 
 and weathered the gales. 
 
 Twice had he to eat of his own kind. To- 
 ward break of a wintry day he and one com- 
 panion slunk homeward from an unsuccessful 
 scout, their empty stomachs crying aloud for 
 flesh. They watched each other in suspicion, 
 for in each one the same desire was upper- 
 most. Ahead of them, crossing their trail, a 
 wounded coyote dragged himself spent, done 
 almost to death in a grapple with a nester's 
 dog. They fell upon and slew and ate him. 
 Later, a full month, or perhaps two, when the 
 same companion grew wasted and weak from 
 hunger, and in all the forsaken country they 
 could not kill, when not even a field mouse re- 
 (T8
 
 THE MARAUDER 
 
 warded long hours of hunting, Scartoe ran at 
 him and, with one shrewd stroke upward, slit 
 his throat and let out the life blood. He ate 
 his fill and came once more into his strength. 
 
 Only once during that time of stress did he 
 pit his cunning against man's guile. That 
 was when the snow was off the ground and a 
 party of visitors at the ranch-house hunted 
 him with imported dogs. Scartoe made the 
 most glorious mess of his trail. He went back 
 on it, crossed, recrossed, waded up-stream, re- 
 turned to the starting point, and employed all 
 the tricks his long years had taught him. 
 Then he lay down behind a dead prickly pear 
 and watched the hunt ; watched the chagrin of 
 the men ; watched every movement of the dogs, 
 nosing and worrying. Tiring of this in half 
 an hour, he went to his den and slept. They 
 never untangled the web of his weaving. 
 
 When spring came Scartoe was looking 
 shabby. He was morose, too, and had a 
 longing for companionship. A week of fine 
 79
 
 THE UNTAMED 
 
 weather improved him so that he was almost 
 the Scartoe of old; but the longing for com- 
 panionship was tenfold greater. 
 
 On a February morn he lifted up his voice 
 to herald the dawn. 
 
 "Bow-wow ! Ki-yi, yeow-eow - eow - eow - 
 eow." 
 
 A joyous bark answered. It was not the 
 call of his kind, yet it thrilled him, for in it 
 there was a note he knew. He stiffened and 
 trembled with expectation. A young collie 
 came bounding toward him. She paused 
 doubtfully a dozen yards away and growled. 
 Scartoe threw up his head, thrust out his tail 
 from its usual abject droop and went toward 
 her blithely. Then his hair bristled, his 
 muscles tightened and he was ready for com- 
 bat. 
 
 Behind her came another coyote. He was 
 big. Even the veteran, large as he was, ap- 
 peared small in comparison. Where the new- 
 comer had picked up the living that had given 
 80
 
 THE MARAUDER 
 
 him such weight was a puzzle; but certain it 
 was he had ten pounds the better of it. Not 
 a thought gave Scartoe to that handicap. 
 
 The big wolf wasted no time in prelimina- 
 ries. His strength and skill had been tried in 
 melees innumerable, and foes had been swept 
 before him like chaff. But Scartoe was a 
 general. Like lightning he dodged the swift 
 rush; like lightning he ripped even as he 
 swerved, tearing a piece from his enemy's neck. 
 Coyotes will not grapple and cling with locked 
 jaws, as do the brave among dogs ; they depend 
 on the swift cutting powers of their dexterous 
 jaws. Three times they came together; three 
 times old Scartoe gashed his antagonist so 
 that the blood spurted. Still he could not 
 quite reach the throat for the death stroke. 
 
 And then the end came. Too eager in his 
 desire to finish the battle, he left himself open 
 for the merest flick of time, as he wheeled for 
 a fourth onslaught. With one hurtling, up- 
 ward dive, the big brute gained the jugular, 
 81
 
 THE UNTAMED 
 
 and Scartoe was thrown back, his throat torn, 
 the life ebbing from him. 
 
 The collie frisked about the victor, playfully 
 showing her teeth, and they trotted away to- 
 gether. 
 
 An hour after sunup, the ranch-house cook, 
 on a quest for his infant son's collie pet, came 
 upon the torn, lifeless body. 
 
 "Jumping Jupiter!" he exclaimed, prayer- 
 fully. "It's ol' Scartoe."
 
 Ill 
 
 CORAZON 
 
 A man is as good as his nerves Cowboy maxim. 
 
 WITH manes streaming in the wind, a 
 band of bronchos fled across the 
 grama flats, splashed through the 
 San Pedro, and whirled sharply to the right, 
 heading for sanctuary in the Dragoons. In 
 the lead raced a big sorrel, his coat shimmering 
 like polished gold where the sun touched it. 
 
 "That's Corazon," exclaimed Reb. "Head 
 him or we'll lose the bunch." 
 
 The pursuers spread out and swept round in 
 a wide semicircle. Corazon held to his course, 
 a dozen yards in advance of the others, his head 
 high. The chase slackened, died away. With 
 a blaring neigh, the sorrel eased his furious 
 83
 
 THE UNTAMED 
 
 pace and the entire band came to a trot. Be- 
 fore them were the mountains, and Corazon 
 knew their fastnesses as the street urchin 
 knows the alleys that give him refuge; in the 
 canons the bronchos would be safe from man. 
 Behind was no sign of the enemy. His nose 
 in the wind, he sniffed long, but it bore him 
 no taint. Instead, he nickered with delight, 
 for he smelled water. They swung to the 
 south, and in less than five minutes their hot 
 muzzles were washed by the bubbling waters 
 of Eternity Spring. 
 
 Corazon drew in a long breath, expanding 
 his well-ribbed sides, and looked up from 
 drinking. There in front of him, fifty paces 
 away, was a horseman. He snorted the alarm 
 and they plunged into a tangle of sagebrush. 
 Another rider bore down and turned them 
 back. To right and left they darted, then 
 wheeled and sought desperately to break 
 through the cordon at a weak spot, and failed. 
 .Wherever they turned, a cowboy appeared as 
 84
 
 CORAZON 
 
 by magic. At last Corazon detected an un- 
 guarded area and flew through it with the speed 
 of light. 
 
 "Now we've got 'em," howled Reb. "Don't 
 drive too close, but keep 'em headed for the 
 corral." 
 
 Within a hundred yards of the gate, the sor- 
 rel halted, his ears cocked in doubt. The cow- 
 boys closed in to force the band through. Three 
 times the bronchos broke and scattered, for to 
 their wild instincts the fences and that narrow 
 aperture cried treachery and danger. They 
 were gathered, with whoops and many impre- 
 cations, and once more approached the en- 
 trance. 
 
 "Drive the saddle bunch out," commanded 
 the range boss. 
 
 Forth came the remuda of a hundred horses. 
 The bronchos shrilled greeting and mingled 
 with them, and when the cow-ponies trotted 
 meekly into the corral, Corazon and his band 
 went too, though they shook and were afraid. 
 85
 
 THE UNTAMED 
 
 / 
 
 For five years Corazon had roamed the 
 range ever since he had discovered that grass 
 was good to eat, and so had left the care of his 
 tender-eyed mother. Because he dreaded the 
 master of created things and fled him afar, 
 only once during that time had he seen man at 
 close quarters. That was when, as a young- 
 ster, he was caught and branded on the left hip. 
 He had quickly forgotten that; until now it 
 had ceased to be even a memory. 
 
 But now he and his companion rovers were 
 prisoners, cooped in a corral by a contemptible 
 trick. They crowded around and around the 
 stout enclosure, sometimes dropping to their 
 knees in efforts to discover an exit beneath the 
 boards. And not twenty feet away, the 
 dreaded axis of their circlings, sat a man on a 
 horse, and he studied them calmly. Other 
 men, astride the fence, were uncoiling ropes, 
 and their manner was placid and businesslike. 
 One opined dispassionately that "the sorrel is 
 shore some horse." 
 
 86
 
 CORAZON 
 
 "You're damn whistlin'," cried the buster 
 over his shoulder, in hearty affirmation. 
 
 Corazon was the most distracted of all the 
 band. He was in a frenzy of nervous fear, his 
 glossy coat wet and foam-flecked. He would 
 not stand still for a second, but prowled about 
 the wooden barrier like a jungle creature newly 
 prisoned in a cage. Twice he nosed the 
 ground and crooked his forelegs in an endeavor 
 to slide through the six inches of clear space 
 beneath the gate, and the outfit laughed de- 
 risively. 
 
 "Here goes," announced the buster in his 
 expressionless tones. "You-all watch out, 
 now. Hell'll be poppinV 
 
 At that moment Corazon took it into his 
 head to dash at top speed through his friends, 
 huddled in a bunch in a corner. A rope 
 whined and coiled, and, when he burst out of 
 the jam, the noose was around his neck, tight- 
 ening so as to strangle him. Madly he ran 
 against it, superb in the sureness of his might. 
 87
 
 THE UNTAMED 
 
 Then he squalled with rage and pain and an 
 awful terror. His legs flew from under him, 
 and poor Corazon was jerked three feet into 
 the air, coming down on his side with smashing 
 force. The fall shook a grunt out of him, 
 and he was stunned and breathless, but unhurt. 
 He staggered to his feet, his breath straining 
 like a bellows, for the noose cut into his neck 
 and he would not yield to its pressure. 
 
 Facing him was the man on the bay. His 
 mount stood with feet braced, sitting back on 
 the rope, and he and his rider were quite col- 
 lected and cool and prepared. The sorrel's 
 eyes were starting from his head; his nostrils 
 flared wide, gaping for the air that was denied 
 him, and the breath sucked in his throat. It 
 seemed as if he must drop. Suddenly the buster 
 touched his horse lightly with the spur and 
 slackened the rope. With a long sob, Corazon 
 drew in a life-giving draught, his gaze fixed 
 in frightened appeal on his captor. 
 
 "Open the gate," said Mullins, without rais- 
 ing his voice. 
 
 88
 
 CORAZON 
 
 He flicked the rope over Corazon's hind 
 quarters, and essayed to drive him into the 
 next corral, to cut him off from his fellows. 
 The sorrel gave a gasp of dismay and lunged 
 forward. Again he was lifted from the 
 ground, and came down with a thud that left 
 him shivering. 
 
 "His laig's done bust!" exclaimed the boss. 
 
 "No; he's shook up, that's all. Wait 
 awhile." 
 
 A moment later Corazon raised his head 
 painfully ; then, life and courage coming back 
 with a rush, he lurched to his feet. Mullins 
 waited with unabated patience. The sorrel 
 was beginning to respect that which encircled 
 his neck and made naught of his strength, and 
 when the buster flipped the rope again, he 
 ran through the small gate, and brought up 
 before he had reached the end of his tether. 
 
 Two of the cowboys stepped down languidly 
 from the fence, and took position in the cen- 
 ter of the corral. 
 
 "Hi, Corazon! Go it, boy!" they yelled, 
 89
 
 THE UNTAMED 
 
 and spurred by their cries, the horse started 
 off at a trot. Reb tossed his loop, flung it 
 carelessly, with a sinuous movement of the 
 wrist, and when Corazon had gone a few 
 yards, he found his forefeet ensnared. En- 
 raged at being thus cramped, he bucked and 
 bawled; but, before Reb could settle on the 
 rope, he came to a standstill and sank his teeth 
 into the strands. Once, twice, thrice he tugged, 
 but could make no impression. Then he 
 pitched high in air, and 
 
 "NOW!" shrieked Reb. 
 
 They heaved with might and main, and Cor- 
 azon flopped in the dust. Quick as a cat, he 
 sprang upright and bolted; but again they 
 downed him, and, while Reb held the head by 
 straddling the neck, his confederate twined 
 dexterously with a stake-rope. There lay Cor- 
 azon, helpless and almost spent, trussed up like 
 a sheep for market : they had hog-tied him. 
 
 It was the buster who put the hackamore on 
 his head. Very deliberately he moved. Cor- 
 90
 
 CORAZON 
 
 azon sensed confidence in the touch of his fin- 
 gers ; they spoke a language to him, and he was 
 soothed by the sureness of superiority they 
 conveyed. He lay quiet. Then Reb incau- 
 tiously shifted his position, and the horse 
 heaved and raised his head, banging Mullins 
 across the ear. The buster's senses swam, but 
 instead of flying into a rage, he became quieter, 
 more deliberate ; in his cold eyes was a vengeful 
 gleam, and dangerous stealth lurked in his deli- 
 cate manipulation of the strands. An excru- 
 ciating pain shot through the sorrel's eye: 
 Mullins had gouged him. 
 
 "Let him up." It was the buster again, 
 atop the bay, making the rope fast with a 
 double half -hitch over the horn of the sad- 
 dle. 
 
 Corazon arose, dazed and very sick. But 
 his spirit was unbreakable. Again and again 
 he strove to tear loose, rearing, falling back, 
 plunging to the end of the rope until he was 
 hurled off his legs to the ground. When he 
 91
 
 THE UNTAMED 
 
 began to weary, Mullins encouraged him to 
 fight, that he might toss him. 
 
 "I'll learn you what this rope means," he 
 remarked, as the broncho scattered the dust for 
 the ninth time, and remained there, completely 
 done up. 
 
 In deadly fear of his slender tether, yet alert 
 to match his strength against it once more, 
 should opportunity offer, Corazon followed the 
 buster quietly enough when he rode out into 
 the open. Beside a sturdy mesquite bush that 
 grew apart from its brethren, Mullins dis- 
 mounted and tied the sorrel. As a farewell he 
 waved his arms and whooped. Of course Cor- 
 azon gathered himself and leaped leaped to 
 the utmost that was in him, so that the bush 
 vibrated to its farthest root; and of course he 
 hit the earth with a jarring thump that tempo- 
 rarily paralyzed him. Mullins departed to 
 put the thrall of human will on others. 
 
 Throughout the afternoon, and time after 
 time during the interminable night, the sorrel 
 92
 
 CORAZON 
 
 tried to break away, but with each sickening 
 failure he grew more cautious. When he ran 
 against the rope now, he did not run blindly to 
 its limit, but half wheeled, so that when it 
 jerked him back he invariably landed on his 
 feet. Corazon was learning hard, but he was 
 learning. And what agonies of pain and sus- 
 pense he went through! for years a free 
 rover, and now to be bound thus, by what 
 looked to be a mere thread, for he knew not 
 what further tortures! He sweated and shiv- 
 ered, seeing peril in every shadow. When a 
 coyote slunk by with tongue lapping hungrily 
 over his teeth, the prisoner almost broke his 
 neck in a despairing struggle to win freedom. 
 
 In the chill of the dawn they led him into 
 a circular corral. His sleekness had departed ; 
 the barrel-like body did not look so well nour- 
 ished, and there was red in the blazing eyes. 
 
 "I reckon he'll be mean," observed the 
 buster, as though it concerned him but little. 
 
 "No-o-o. Go easy with him, Carl, and I 
 93
 
 THE UNTAMED 
 
 think he'll make a good hoss," the boss cau- 
 tioned. 
 
 While two men held the rope, Mullins ad- 
 vanced along it foot by foot, inch by inch, one 
 hand outstretched, and talked to Corazon in 
 a low, careless tone of affectionate banter. 
 "So you'd like for to kill me, would you?" he 
 inquired, grinning. All the while he held the 
 sorrel's gaze. 
 
 Corazon stood still, legs planted wide apart, 
 and permitted him to approach. He trembled 
 when the fingers touched his nose; but they 
 were firm, confident digits, the voice was reas- 
 suring, and the gentle rubbing up, up between 
 the eyes and ears lulled his forebodings. 
 
 "Hand me the blanket," said Mullins. 
 
 He drew it softly over Corazon's back, and 
 the broncho swerved, pawed, and kicked with 
 beautiful precision. Whereupon they placed 
 a rope around his neck, dropped it behind his 
 right hind leg, then pulled that member up 
 close to his belly; there it was held fast. On 
 94
 
 CORAZON 
 
 three legs now, the sorrel was impotent for 
 harm. Mullins once more took up the blanket 
 but this time the gentleness had flown. He 
 slapped it over Corazon's backbone from side 
 to side a dozen times. At each impact the 
 horse humped awkwardly, but, finding that he 
 came to no hurt, he suffered it in resigna- 
 tion. 
 
 That much of the second lesson learned, they 
 saddled him. Strangely enough, Corazon sub- 
 mitted to the operation without fuss, the only 
 untoward symptoms being a decided upward 
 slant to the back of the saddle and the tucking 
 of his tail. Reb waggled his head over this 
 exhibition. 
 
 "I don't like his standing quiet that away; 
 it ain't natural," he vouchsafed. "Look at 
 the crick in his back. Jim-in-ee! he'll shore 
 pitch." 
 
 Which he did. The cinches were tightened 
 until Corazon's eyes almost popped from his 
 head; then they released the bound leg and 
 95
 
 THE UNTAMED 
 
 turned him loose. What was that galling his 
 spine? Corazon took a startled peep at it, 
 lowered his head between his knees, and began 
 to bawl. Into the air he rocketed, his head 
 and forelegs swinging to the left, his hind 
 quarters weaving to the right. The jar of 
 his contact with the ground was appalling. 
 Into the air again, his head and forelegs to 
 the right, his rump twisted to the left. Round 
 and round the corral he. went, blatting like an 
 angry calf; but the thing on his back stayed 
 where it was, gripping his body cruelly. At 
 last he was fain to stop for breath. 
 
 "Now," said Mullins, "I reckon I'll take 
 it out of him." 
 
 There has always been for me an overwhelm- 
 ing fascination in watching busters at work. 
 They have underlying traits in common when 
 it comes to handling the horses the garrulous 
 one becomes coldly watchful, the Stoic moves 
 with stern patience, the boaster soothes with 
 soft-crooned words and confident caress. 
 96
 
 CORAZON 
 
 Mullins left Corazon standing in the middle 
 of the corral, the hackamore rope strung loose 
 on the ground, while he saw to it that his 
 spurs were fast. We mounted the fence, not 
 wishing to be mixed in the glorious turmoil to 
 follow. 
 
 "I wouldn't top ol' Corazon for fifty," con- 
 fessed the man on the adjoining post. 
 
 "Mullins has certainly got nerve," I con- 
 ceded. 
 
 "A buster has got to have nerve." The 
 range boss delivered himself laconically. "All 
 nerve and no brains makes the best. But they 
 get stove up and then " 
 
 "And then? What then?" 
 
 "Why, don't you know?" he asked in sur- 
 prise. "Every buster loses his nerve at last, 
 and then they can't ride a pack-boss. It must 
 be because it's one fool man with one set of 
 nerves up ag'in a new boss with a new devil in 
 him every time. They wear him down. 
 Don't you reckon?" 
 
 97
 
 THE UNTAMED 
 
 The explanation sounded plausible. Mul- 
 liris was listening with a faintly amused smile 
 to Reb's account of what a lady mule had done 
 to him; he rolled a cigarette and lighted it 
 painstakingly. The hands that held the 
 match were steady as eternal rock. It was 
 maddening to see him stand there so coolly 
 while the big sorrel, a dozen feet distant, was 
 a-quake with dread, blowing harshly through 
 his crimson nostrils whenever a cowboy stirred 
 and each of us knowing that the man was 
 taking his life in his hands. An unlooked-for 
 twist, a trifling disturbance of poise, and, with 
 a horse like Corazon, it meant maiming or 
 death. At last he threw the cigarette from 
 him and walked slowly to the rope. 
 
 "So you're calling for me?" he inquired, 
 gathering it up. 
 
 Corazon was snorting. By patient craft 
 
 Reb acquired a grip on the sorrel's ears, and, 
 
 while he hung there, bringing the head down 
 
 so that the horse could not move, Mullins 
 
 98
 
 CORAZON 
 
 tested the stirrups and raised himself cautiously 
 into the saddle. 
 
 "Let him go." 
 
 While one could count ten, Corazon stood 
 expectant, his back bowed, his tail between 
 his legs. The ears were laid flat on the head 
 and the forefeet well advanced. The buster 
 waited, the quirt hanging from two fingers of 
 his right hand. Suddenly the sorrel ducked 
 his head and emitted a harsh scream, leaping, 
 with legs stiff, straight off the ground. He 
 came down with the massive hips at an angle 
 to the shoulders, thereby imparting a double 
 shock; bounded high again, turned back with 
 bewildering speed as he touched the earth; 
 and then, in a circle perhaps twenty feet in 
 diameter, sprang time after time, his heels 
 lashing the air. Never had such pitching been 
 seen on the Anvil Range. 
 
 "I swan, he just misses his tail a' inch when 
 he turns back!" roared a puncher. 
 
 Mullins sat composedly in the saddle, but 
 99
 
 THE UNTAMED 
 
 he was riding as never before. He whipped 
 the sorrel at every jump and raked him down 
 the body from shoulder to loins with the rip- 
 ping spurs. The brute gave no signs of letting 
 up. Through Mullins' tan of copper hue 
 showed a slight pallor. He was exhausted. If 
 Corazon did not give in soon, the man would 
 be beaten. Just then the horse stopped, feet 
 a-sprawl. 
 
 "Mullins," the range boss got down from 
 the fence, "you'll kill that hoss. Between 
 the cinches belongs to you; the head and hind 
 quarters is the company's." 
 
 For a long minute Mullins stared at the 
 beast's ears without replying. 
 
 "I reckon that's the rule," he acquiesced 
 heavily. "Do you want that somebody else 
 should ride him?" 
 
 "No-o-o. Go ahead. But, remember, be- 
 tween the cinches you go at him as you like 
 nowhere else." 
 
 The buster slapped the quirt down on Cor- 
 100
 
 1 Leaping, with legs stiff, straight off the ground '
 
 CORAZ6N 
 
 azon's shoulder, but the broncho did not budge ; 
 then harder. With the first oath he had used, 
 he jabbed in the spurs and lay back on the 
 hackamore rope. Instead of bucking, Cora- 
 zon reared straight up, his feet pawing like 
 the hands of a drowning man. Before Mul- 
 lins could move to step off, the sorrel flung his 
 head round and toppled backward. 
 
 "No, he's not dead." The range boss leaned 
 over the buster and his hands fumbled inside 
 the shirt. "The horn got him here, but he 
 ain't dead. Claude, saddle Streak and hit for 
 Agua Prieta for the doctor." 
 
 When we had carried the injured man to 
 the bunk-house, Reb spoke from troubled 
 meditation: 
 
 "Pete, I don't believe Corazon is as bad as 
 he acts with Mullins. I've been watching him. 
 Mullins, he didn't " 
 
 "You take him, then; he's yours," snapped 
 the boss, his conscience pricking because of the 
 reproof he had administered. If the buster 
 101
 
 THE UNTAMED 
 
 had ridden him his own way, this might not 
 have happened. 
 
 That is how the sorrel came into Reb's pos- 
 session. Only one man of the outfit wit- 
 nessed the taming, and he would not talk ; but 
 when Reb came to dinner from the first saddle 
 on Corazon, his hands were torn and the nail 
 of one finger hung loose. 
 
 "I had to take to the horn and hang on 
 some," he admitted. 
 
 Ay, he had clung there desperately while 
 the broncho pitched about the river-bed, whither 
 Reb had retired for safety and to escape spec- 
 tators. But at the next saddle Corazon was 
 less violent; at the third, recovering from the 
 stunning shocks and bruisings of the first day, 
 he was a fiend; and then, on the following 
 morning, he did not pitch at all. Reb rode 
 him every day to sap the superfluous vigor in 
 Corazon's iron frame and he taught him as 
 well as he could the first duties of a cow- 
 horse. Finding that his new master never 
 102
 
 CORAZON 
 
 punished him unless he undertook to dispute his 
 authority, the sorrel grew tractable and began 
 to take an interest in his tasks. 
 
 "He's done broke," announced Reb; "I'll 
 have him bridle-wise in a week. He'll make 
 some roping horse. Did you see him this even- 
 ing? I swan " 
 
 They scoffed good-naturedly; but Reb pro- 
 ceeded on the assumption that Corazon was 
 meant to be a roping horse, and schooled him 
 accordingly. As for the sorrel, he took to 
 the new pastime with delight. Within a 
 month nothing gave him keener joy than to 
 swerve and crouch at the climax of a sprint 
 and see a cow thrown heels over head at the 
 end of the rope that was wrapped about his 
 saddle-horn. 
 
 The necessity of contriving to get three 
 meals a day took me elsewhere, and I did not 
 see Corazon again for three years. Then, one 
 Sunday afternoon, Big John drew me from El 
 Paso to Juarez on the pretense of seeing a 
 103
 
 THE UNTAMED 
 
 grand, an extraordinary, a most noble bull- 
 fight, in which the dauntless Favorita would 
 slay three fierce bulls from the renowned El 
 Carmen ranch, in "competency" with the fear- 
 less Morenito Chico de San Bernardo; and a 
 youth with a megaphone drew us both to a 
 steer-roping contest instead. We agreed that 
 bull-fighting was brutal on the Sabbath. 
 
 "I'll bet it's rotten," remarked Big John 
 pessimistically, as we took our seats. "I could 
 beat 'em myself." 
 
 As he scanned the list, his face brightened. 
 Among the seventeen ropers thereon were two 
 champions and a possible new one in Raphael 
 Fraustro, the redoubtable vaquero from the 
 domain of Terrazas. 
 
 "And here's Reb!" roared John he is ac- 
 customed to converse in the tumult of the 
 branding-pen "I swan, he's entered from 
 Monument." 
 
 Shortly afterwards the contestants paraded, 
 wonderfully arrayed in silk shirts and new 
 handkerchiefs. 
 
 104
 
 CORAZON 
 
 "Some of them ain't been clean before in a 
 year," was John's caustic comment. "There's 
 Slim; I KNOW he hasn't." 
 
 They were a fine-looking body of men, and 
 two of my neighbors complained that I 
 trampled on their feet. The horses caught the 
 infection of excitement from the packed stands 
 and champed on their bits and caracoled 
 and waltzed sideways in a manner highly un- 
 becoming a staid cow-pony. 
 
 There was one that did not. So sluggish 
 was his gait and general bearing, in contrast 
 to the others, that the crowd burst into laugh- 
 ter. He plodded at the tail-end of the pro- 
 cession, his hoofs kicking up the dust in list- 
 less spurts, his nose on a level with his knees. 
 I rubbed my eyes and John said, "No, it 
 ain't it can't be "; but it was. Into that 
 arena slouched Corazon, entered against the 
 pick of the horses of the Southwest; and Reb 
 was astride him. 
 
 We watched the ropers catch and tie the 
 steers in rapid succession, but the much-heralded 
 105
 
 THE UNTAMED 
 
 ones missed altogether, and to John and me 
 the performance lagged. We were waiting 
 for Reb and Corazon. 
 
 They came at last, at the end of the list. 
 When Corazon ambled up the arena to enter 
 behind the barrier, the grandstand roared a 
 facetious welcome; the spectacle of this sad- 
 gaited nag preparing to capture a steer 
 touched its risibilities. 
 
 "Listen to me," bawled a fat gentleman in 
 a wide-brimmed hat, close to my ear. "You 
 listen to me! They're all fools. That's a 
 cow-horse. No blasted nonsense. Knows his 
 business, huh? You're damn whistlin'!" 
 
 Assuredly, Corazon knew his business. The 
 instant he stepped behind the line he was a 
 changed horse. The flopping ears pricked for- 
 ward, his neck arched, and the great muscles 
 of his shoulders and thighs rippled to his dainty 
 prancing. He pulled and fretted on the bit, 
 his eyes roving about in search of the quarry ; 
 he whinnied an appeal to be gone. Reb made 
 106
 
 CORAZON 
 
 ready his coil, curbing him with light pressure. 
 
 Out from the chute sprang a steer, heading 
 straight down the arena. Corazon was fran- 
 tic. With the flash of the gun he breasted 
 the barrier-rope and swept down on him in 
 twenty strides. Reb stood high in the stir- 
 rups ; the loop whirled and sped ; and, without 
 waiting to see how it fell, but accepting a 
 catch in blind faith, the sorrel started off at a 
 tangent. 
 
 Big John was standing up in his place, claw- 
 ing insanely at the hats of his neighbors and 
 banging them on the head with his programme. 
 
 "Look at him just look at him!" he 
 shrieked. 
 
 The steer was tossed clear of the ground and 
 came down on his left side. Almost before he 
 landed, Reb was out of the saddle and speed- 
 ing toward him. 
 
 "He's getting up. HE'S GETTING 
 UP. Go to him, Reb !" howled John and I. 
 
 The steer managed to lift his head; he was 
 107,
 
 THE UNTAMED 
 
 struggling to his knees. I looked away, for 
 Reb must lose. Then a hoarse shout from the 
 multitude turned back my gaze. Corazon had 
 felt the slack on the rope and knew what it 
 meant. He dug his feet into the dirt and be- 
 gan to walk slowly forward very slowly and 
 carefully, for Reb's task must not be spoiled. 
 The steer collapsed, falling prone again, but 
 the sorrel did not stop. Once he cocked his 
 eye, and seeing that the animal still squirmed, 
 pulled with all his strength. The stands were 
 rocking; they were a sea of tossing hats and 
 gesticulating arms and flushed faces; the roar 
 of their plaudits echoed back from the hills. 
 And it was all for Corazon, gallant Corazon. 
 
 "Dam* his eyes dam' his ol' eyes!" Big 
 John babbled over and over, absolutely obliv- 
 ious. 
 
 Reb stooped beside the steer, his hands loop- 
 ing and tying with deft darting twists even as 
 he kept pace with his dragged victim. 
 
 "I guess it's about a hour," he panted. 
 108
 
 CORAZON 
 
 Then he sprang clear and tossed his hands 
 upward, facing the judges' stand. After that 
 he walked aimlessly about, mopping his face 
 with a handkerchief; for to him the shoutings 
 and the shifting colors were all a foolish dream, 
 and he was rather sick. 
 
 Right on the cry with which his master an- 
 nounced his task done, Corazon eased up on 
 the rope and waited. 
 
 "Mr. Pee-ler's time," bellowed the man with 
 the megaphone presently, "is twenty-one sec- 
 onds, ty-ing the world's re-cord." 
 
 So weak that his knees trembled, Reb 
 walked over to his horse. "Corazon," he said 
 huskily, and slapped him once on the flank. 
 
 Nothing would do the joyous crowd then 
 but that Reb should ride forth to be acclaimed 
 the victor. We sat back and yelled ourselves 
 weak with laughter, for Corazon, having done 
 his work, refused resolutely to squander time 
 in vain parade. The steer captured and tied, 
 he had no further interest in the proceedings. 
 109
 
 THE UNTAMED 
 
 The rascal dog-trotted reluctantly to the cen- 
 ter of the arena in obedience to Reb, then 
 faced the audience; but, all the time Reb was 
 bowing his acknowledgments, Corazon sulked 
 and slouched, and he was sulking and shuffling 
 the dust when they went through the gate. 
 
 "Now," said John, who is very human, 
 "we'll go help Reb spend that money." 
 
 As we jostled amid the outgoing crowd, sev- 
 eral cowboys came alongside the grandstand 
 rail, and Big John drew me aside to have 
 speech with them. One rider led a spare horse 
 and when he passed a man on foot, the latter 
 hailed him: 
 
 "Say, Ed, give me a lift to the hotel?" 
 
 "Sure," answered Ed, proffering the reins. 
 
 The man gathered them up, his hands flut- 
 tering as if with palsy, and paused with his 
 foot raised toward the stirrup. 
 
 "He won't pitch nor nothing, Ed?" came 
 the quavered inquiry. "You're shore he's 
 gentle?" 
 
 110
 
 CORAZON 
 
 "Gentler'n a dog," returned Ed, greatly sur- 
 prised. 
 
 "You ain't fooling me, now, are you, Ed?" 
 continued the man on the ground. "He 
 looks kind of mean." 
 
 "Give him to me !" Ed exploded. "You kin 
 walk." 
 
 From where we stood, only the man's back 
 was visible. "Who is that fellow?" I asked. 
 
 "Who? Him?" answered my neighbor. 
 "Oh, his name's Mullins. They say he used 
 to be able to ride anything with hair on it, 
 and throw off the bridle at that. I expect 
 that's just talk. Don't you reckon?" 
 
 Ill
 
 IV 
 THE OUTLAW 
 
 STEVE was recounting an episode of 
 Hell's Acre. 
 "And jist as I was fighting my horse 
 to make him go through that scrub-oak, he 
 done stubbed his toe in the sand. Up she come 
 with a whoof one of them oF long-horns. 
 That cow had hid herself there. Yes, sir; but 
 she didn't quite git her horns covered." 
 
 Reb said he could well believe it. No longer 
 ago than last Tuesday, while chasing some 
 stubborn cattle, he had chanced upon a cow 
 lying flat behind a bush. A jackrabbit was 
 burying her under leaves, for better conceal- 
 ment. 
 
 Whereupon the two got to horse and rode 
 away, leaving behind them a thoughtful si- 
 lence. 
 
 112
 
 THE OUTLAW 
 
 There was a water-gap to be repaired and 
 they headed for the Salt Fork of the Brazos. 
 
 "Wait a minute," said Steve. "Look there." 
 
 A cow stood on the crest of a rise a lean, 
 dun creature, with distended eyes. When 
 they approached, she trotted off to the right, 
 mumbling anxiously. They did not follow. 
 Then she stopped, her head erect and nostrils 
 dilated, to watch them. The two ambled for- 
 ward and she kept near, very, very anxious. 
 
 "She's got a calf hid out somewheres," Reb 
 remarked. 
 
 He surveyed the immediate country lei- 
 surely, confident of what he would discover. 
 Two hundred yards in front was a patch of 
 mesquite, and they made for it. Behind a bush 
 they found the calf a sturdy, red-and-white 
 baby with a specially black, moist nose. It 
 flattened out when Steve stood over it. 
 
 "Git up," he commanded, "I want to see 
 more of you. I bet them hoofs of yours is 
 soft." 
 
 113
 
 THE UNTAMED 
 
 The calf hugged the ground. He raised 
 the sagging body by the brisket and tail, none 
 too gently. When he let go, the little fellow 
 collapsed, spread out like a jellyfish. He must 
 have marveled as he lay there, rolling his wide, 
 questioning eyes upward, what strange beings 
 these were, for he was just one day old and 
 had never seen a man. 
 
 "Come a liT seven," Steve cried joyously. 
 "Look a-here, Reb. See his face." 
 
 Between the youngster's eyes was a crim- 
 son splash which made a perfect 7. Reb ex- 
 amined the peculiar marking with interest and 
 suggested that Come-a- Seven might bring the 
 little devil luck as a name. 
 
 The calf resented all this handling and raised 
 his voice in a plaintive bawl. As they loped 
 away on their errand, the cow crashed through 
 the bushes to her offspring's side. She nosed 
 him solicitously, rumbling caresses. 
 
 Come-a-Seven inherited all the hardiness of 
 his race indeed, in later years, Reb vowed 
 114
 
 THE OUTLAW 
 
 that he was tougher'n the oldest man in the 
 world. Half an hour after his advent into 
 this vale of tears he could walk. It was not a 
 gait to justify boasting, because his forelegs 
 showed a tendency to give at unexpected 
 places, but he saved himself from a fall by 
 leaning against his mother's shoulder. He 
 next made the circuit of the cow twice in a 
 clumsy hunt for the fount of his food supply 
 and finally reached it in an extremely awkward 
 position. Nevertheless, she watched him pride- 
 fully, her sight blurred with happiness; and 
 braced against her hind leg, he fed like a glut- 
 ton. Feeling full and reckless therefrom, he 
 humped his back in abandon and tried to 
 cavort, but came down with a jarring thump. 
 The young mother did her duty by him like 
 a Scotch washerwoman with nine children. 
 He breakfasted at dawn drank until he could 
 drink no more. Afterwards she went off to 
 graze, leaving the calf behind some screening 
 bush. It was seldom she strayed so far that 
 115
 
 THE UNTAMED 
 
 she was not within sight or call : there is danger 
 to toddling calves that lie out on the range un- 
 protected. 
 
 How fast his strength grew! At five days 
 of age he could have butted into a wooden 
 fence at half-speed without any especially ill 
 effects, save to the fence. Yet his mother's 
 care never abated. She would go over him 
 every night with eager tenderness and was 
 ever aggressively on the alert to defend. For 
 she would have fought anything on four legs 
 for the life of that loose- jointed, red-and-white 
 blatherskite she held to be prince of his race. 
 
 The cattle grazed in scattered bunches over 
 some hundred thousand acres of the east range 
 they are not so companionable as horses and 
 do not herd so closely in their feeding. Nor 
 will the bulls take such responsibilities upon 
 their shoulders as do stallions with the mares and 
 colts. Come-a-Seven, in fact, never saw his 
 father, to his knowledge. That ponderous, 
 morose scion of Hereford stock lived his own 
 116
 
 THE OUTLAW 
 
 life in his own way, spending half the day 
 sleeping in the shade of a cottonwood; and he 
 did not worry about family matters. His 
 scores of children might fare as best they could. 
 In the meantime he had his amusements. Be- 
 sides, what on earth were their mothers for? 
 
 On his eighth day Come-a-Seven started out 
 to see something of the world. No great 
 variety offered within his ken a rolling ex- 
 panse, green-gray, gashed by numerous brick- 
 red gullies; hundreds of scraggy mesquite 
 bushes and some prickly-pear; two or three 
 regal cottonwoods on the bank of a creek, 
 whose sandy bed was a third of a mile wide; 
 beyond, a butte lifting from the earth like a 
 monstrous mushroom. That was what he saw 
 that, and big blue blotches of shadows mov- 
 ing over the country like an army of specters. 
 Piles of tumbled white clouds gave promise of 
 rain at a later date. 
 
 Upon this the red-and-white gazed, his head 
 moving from side to side in jerks, ears twitch- 
 117
 
 THE UNTAMED 
 
 ing, tail straight out as when he fed. He was 
 trying to get up nerve to sally farther afield. 
 As a starter and a spur to courage he curveted 
 clumsily, but was brought up short by the sight 
 of another calf of about his own age, standing 
 not a dozen yards away, surveying him with 
 the liveliest interest. Come-a-Seven tried to 
 look hostile, even threatening, but his curiosity 
 got the better of him, because the calf into 
 whose face he glared had the merest stump of 
 a tail. 
 
 Advancing a step, he intimated in his own 
 peculiar, gruff calf-manner that the abbre- 
 viated member puzzled him. If Come-a-Seven 
 had ever dodged a coyote, he would not have 
 been so ignorant. The other evinced no re- 
 sentment and they approached in amicable 
 fashion, made a playful butt at each other and 
 became fast friends. After that they would 
 loaf about together in the hot summer days, 
 making trouble for the other calves and stir- 
 ring up bickerings and feuds. 
 118
 
 THE OUTLAW 
 
 None of them was of a serious nature. The 
 nearest approach to a tragic ending happened 
 when the red-and-white smashed, full tilt, into 
 a six-months'-old half-brother, of whose rela- 
 tionship he was ignorant not that this would 
 have made any difference and knocked him 
 off the steep wall of a tank into the water. 
 He had to run at that, for the other was a 
 husky, ardent calf, and he was angry all 
 through. When he scrambled out, he went 
 hunting for the red-and-white, but by that time 
 the offender was safely under his mother's eye, 
 which fact he flaunted brazenly. 
 
 Who ever saw a braver pair? Who so bold 
 as the tailless one and Come-a- Seven when 
 there was no possibility of danger? Then, at 
 the first hint of trouble, up would go their 
 tails and they would run to their mothers at 
 their very best pace. 
 
 They were learning, too, for many things 
 they saw carried lessons to their youthful per- 
 ceptions. They were witnesses of the finish 
 119
 
 THE UNTAMED 
 
 of a wild-cat, which a puncher roped out of a 
 tree under which they had been taking a nap. 
 They saw a companion die slowly from black- 
 leg, and another practically eaten alive by the 
 fearful screw-worm. For days, too, they 
 avoided an old cow whose head was swelled to 
 twice its natural size. The poor creature was 
 the victim of a snake bite, but she survived. 
 
 "Ow-oo-yah! Ow-oo-yah! Ow-oo-yah! 
 Ki-yi! Git up, cattle." 
 
 A shrill whistle brought the red-and-white to 
 his feet with a jerk just as the 'sun tinted the 
 eastern sky to gray and gold and rose. He 
 bellowed an inquiry to his mother, and for a 
 second stood irresolute. A horseman came 
 riding at top speed straight for them, hallooing 
 with all his might and waving his hat. 
 Whereupon the calf waited for no instructions. 
 He let himself out for all he was worth. 
 
 The puncher rode at a hand-gallop behind 
 and he did not drive too hard. Instead, he 
 120
 
 THE OUTLAW 
 
 gave them a- shove in the direction he desired 
 they should travel, and, with a final shout, 
 swung away to the right, where a bunch of six 
 rose up with a snort and gave him a chase. 
 He calculated that the cow would keep going 
 and she did. Her slow march was marked by 
 protests from her hopeful offspring. Ob- 
 serving that the rider was busy stirring up 
 cattle in many directions, his baby mind could 
 conceive of no good reason for plugging along 
 in a line dead ahead because this individual had 
 furnished the impetus for the start. So he 
 grumbled much, but trotted along obediently, 
 notwithstanding; and presently his own griev- 
 ances were dissipated by the contemplation of 
 what was happening around him. Every 
 patch of brush in the country appeared to be 
 turning out cows, calves and young steers, as 
 a magician's bag scatters paper roses. In 
 several bunches he recognized acquaintances, 
 but they were too concerned about the future 
 to do more than give a hurried squall of rec- 
 121
 
 THE UNTAMED 
 
 ognition. An enormous procession was under 
 way and they were marching in it, a part of it. 
 Whither would it lead them? 
 
 Apparently this speculation was likewise a 
 source of worry to the cows and steers, though 
 they all had been through much the same be- 
 fore. 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, 
 122
 
 THE OUTLAW 
 
 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 ob- 
 served he was making no impression, when, dis- 
 couraged, he gave it up and moved along. 
 His tiny troubles were submerged in that 
 great army. Two thousand cattle were con- 
 verging 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. Hold- 
 123
 
 THE UNTAMED 
 
 ing 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 un- 
 certainly, 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. 
 
 When the cutters penetrated the dust and 
 came threading their way through the noisy, 
 restless horde, the calf became doubly uneasy. 
 A man on a blazed-f ace bay was particularly 
 insistent. Come-a- Seven watched him work 
 deviously through the entire herd after a cow 
 and her young, and drive them forth to the 
 open; so he tried to keep out of sight. But it 
 was no use. Soon the horse was close to them, 
 and mother and son felt, rather than saw, that 
 124
 
 THE OUTLAW 
 
 they were the objects of the quiet maneuvering 
 that followed. Wherever they dodged and 
 doubled the blazed-face was sure to be there, 
 close behind, patient, untiring. A wave of re- 
 sentment against this steady pressure broke 
 them into a run, and, before they knew it, the 
 outer rim of cattle split wide open and they 
 were beyond the herd. In a panic they en- 
 deavored to dart back, but the big bay inter- 
 posed. Seeing this, the cow sped toward a 
 draw where the scrub-cedar appeared to offer 
 chances of escape. With the speed of light 
 the puncher was after them, twisting, wheel- 
 ing, heading her off toward the cut-bunch. 
 And the calf found the same indefatigable foe 
 between him and freedom when he emulated 
 his mother. 
 
 *'Git in, you low-lived whelp," howled the 
 cutter, and he spurred furiously. 
 
 They finally gave up the contest as hopeless 
 and trotted meekly to join the bunch of cattle 
 they perceived ahead of them. 
 125
 
 THE UNTAMED 
 
 There were cows which shot from the herd 
 at a gallop and then would break to a hesi- 
 tating trot, their heads nodding loosely close 
 to the ground. Their gait had an odd uncer- 
 tainty about it. The animals would shrink 
 from a weed and draw back. One stopped at 
 perceiving a shadow and went around it fear- 
 fully. 
 
 "Locoed," a puncher commented. For 
 these had eaten of the strange loco weed and 
 were afflicted. 
 
 By ten o'clock, the herd was worked. Fires 
 were lighted and the branding irons thrust into 
 them. 
 
 The roper and flankers got into action, two 
 sets of them, and every minute calves emitted 
 protesting wails as the hot irons seared their 
 sides. He worked like an automaton, that 
 roper. He seemed removed from human pas- 
 sions, remote from the ordinary human im- 
 pulses, flis loop dropped unerringly, and 
 back the horse would go at a trot or a lope, 
 126
 
 THE OUTLAW 
 
 with a panic-stricken, crying calf plunging, 
 bumping along in rear, sometimes turning 
 somersaults for life is too short to carry calves 
 to the flankers with solicitous care, though 
 possibly the flankers would prefer them that 
 way. 
 
 The red-and-white edged away from the 
 field of this gentleman's labors and ran 
 straight in front of a sorrel horse. 
 
 Baw-aw-aw-aw-aw-aw ! he cried, as some- 
 thing settled about his neck and a resistless 
 force commenced to drag him into the open. 
 
 Another roper had snared him. He humped 
 his back and began to buck, his legs rigid. At 
 every leap into the air he blatted and pro- 
 tested. His mother shrank back in confusion 
 at the first outcry and lost sight of him in the 
 dust raised by his unwilling progress. For 
 fully thirty yards he was dragged in a series 
 of hurtling leaps, with the rope cutting into 
 his neck so that he could scarcely breathe ; and 
 then, before he had time to recover his facul- 
 127
 
 THE UNTAMED 
 
 ties, a man seized the rope, ran along it until 
 he reached the red-and-white, and reaching 
 over his body, flopped him in the air. But 
 the calf was not flanked so easily not Come-a- 
 Seven. Twice he rebounded like a rubber ball, 
 rinding his feet before his antagonist could 
 fall on him. 
 
 "Stay-ay-ay with him, Steve! Go to him, 
 boy!" shrieked the delighted flankers. 
 
 "Durn his hide. He's stout as a weaner," 
 Steve snorted; and he gave a tremendous 
 heave. At the same time he made a short 
 spring forward with knees crooked, which car- 
 ried him under the calf as that strenuous com- 
 batant tried to make his hoofs hit the ground 
 first. The red-and-white came down with a 
 bump that sounded like the unloading of a 
 trunk marked, "Handle with care." It would 
 have broken the ribs of anything aged three 
 months except a calf. 
 
 "Holy cats, it's Come-a-Seven," Steve 
 panted. He sat back of his head, with a knee 
 128
 
 THE OUTLAW 
 
 on the neck, and twisted one foreleg in a jiu- 
 jitsu grip that paralyzed all effort. Another 
 puncher at his other extremity got a vise-like 
 hold of the left leg and put the other out of 
 commission by thrusting it far forward with 
 his foot. 
 
 Oh-oh-oh-uh-uh-uh-ah ! 
 
 The cry was almost human, and the eyes 
 bulged and rolled with terror until the whites 
 showed. The iron had touched him, biting 
 through his coat into the flesh, while the smoke 
 curled up with smell of burning hair. His 
 fright needed just that pang to get proper 
 vocal expression, and he used all his available 
 breath in a frantic appeal to the mother that 
 bore him. It was not in vain. 
 
 "Look out! Here she comes!" yelled a 
 flanker. 
 
 The three working over the calf looked up 
 
 to see the cow trotting toward them. There was 
 
 no time to dodge. When she was within ten 
 
 feet of the group an idle flanker kicked a jet 
 
 129
 
 THE UNTAMED 
 
 of sand into her face and she swerved irreso- 
 lutely, coming to a walk. The roper drove her 
 back and work was resumed on her son. 
 
 "I mind once, when I was with the Spur, a 
 cow jumped clean over us that-a-way," re- 
 marked Bill Kennedy, rising from the ground. 
 As a parting salute he rolled the red-and- white 
 over his hip, as a wrestler throws a man to the 
 mat. "Say, Jake, heel them big fellers." 
 
 The calf was scared, and sore all over. A 
 swallow-fork in the right ear and a crop in the 
 left worried him. He stood glowering in all 
 directions, in an effort to get his bearings; 
 then he executed some shuddering, half- 
 hearted jumps, as though trying to shed the 
 two burning letters on his left flank, and 
 sought his mother. He was sick, and all the 
 fight gone from him. 
 
 The herd was driven off and released, and 
 the red-and-white went with them. He tar- 
 ried in a draw, enduring great pain. A fever 
 burned him, too, and he was low in spirits. 
 130
 
 THE OUTLAW 
 
 Half of his enormous appetite was gone, but 
 only half. Alas, he had lost the source of sup- 
 ply for even the remnant that remained. In 
 the general confusion he had become separated 
 from his mother, and, as it was meal-time, the 
 loss was doubly distressing. 
 
 He lifted up his voice in a song of sorrow, but 
 naught availed. Perceiving this, he started 
 to find her. The cow was hunting for him, 
 too, hunting frenziedly. And she was not 
 alone in her grief, for at least a dozen cows had 
 lost their young in the turmoil of branding, 
 and they wandered up and down and across 
 without cessation, lowing pathetically, a world 
 of distress in their tones and in their eyes. 
 From time to time one would sight a stray calf 
 and make a bee line for it, but only to give a 
 moan of disappointment and resume her hunt. 
 
 Come-a- Seven tried to establish filial rela- 
 tions with every cow he met. As a result, he 
 got some rebuffs that would have discouraged 
 a less hungry youngster. For hours he 
 131
 
 THE UNTAMED 
 
 searched; for hours cows wandered about cry- 
 ing for their young. Twice the red-and-white 
 essayed to feed where he had no Wood-rights 
 and nearly had his ribs stove in for his pains. 
 Finally, made crafty by hunger, he softly 
 shouldered another calf away from her place at 
 the mother's side and tried to substitute. The 
 old cow properly kicked him for that trick. 
 
 But his hunger was short-lived; a familiar 
 voice smote upon his ear, his answering cry 
 came with a glad quiver in it, and mother and 
 son were reunited. How she smelled of him 
 and licked his dusty sides and neck! And 
 the way he went for his meal! She gave a 
 deep rumble of content. Even when Corne- 
 a-Seven butted cruelly with his head, in Ms 
 consuming hunger, and hurt her, she lowed in 
 proud satisfaction. 
 
 Pain and trouble cannot last forever. In 
 
 a week his wounds had healed; he was sound 
 
 and strong again. Once more began the long, 
 
 idle days of good feeding and play with his 
 
 132
 
 THE OUTLAW 
 
 young companions. His life was a full one. 
 Compared with that of the barnyard variety of 
 the genus calf, it was as checkered as a drum- 
 mer's appears to a hot-blooded resident of a 
 country town. 
 
 In the winter his mother grew gaunt. The 
 cold was intense at times, and the snowfall was 
 greater than the oldest bull could recall. At 
 rare intervals men came riding to inspect and 
 on one visit drove some of the weaker cattle to 
 the home pasture, there to be fed daily. For 
 the others little could be done, and the red- 
 and- white was one of them. There were many 
 good windbreaks on the range and the calf was 
 tough, so he won through somehow, though once 
 when the snow drifted deep and the cow could 
 not find grass in her wanderings, grim death 
 stared them in the face. The calf himself 
 went three days without a meal, yet lived. A 
 cow will not paw down through the snow like 
 a horse, and mother and son saw some of their 
 friends perish. 
 
 133
 
 THE UNTAMED 
 
 Spring came at last suddenly, like a moun- 
 tain sunrise and the earth was exceeding glad. 
 Worried and emaciated, they greeted the sea- 
 son of hope with a sudden access of energy. 
 In later months the red-and-white was weaned. 
 He learned to eat grass, of which accomplish- 
 ment he was at first inordinately proud, and 
 he throve on it; and he had but one worry in 
 the world heel flies. 
 
 It has been said that Come-a- Seven was 
 lusty. He was an amazing big fellow for his 
 age. When round-up time arrived again and 
 he was herded with about fourteen hundred 
 cattle, he grew chesty over the fact that he 
 sized up well with most of the two-year-olds. 
 His strength and restless energy were propor- 
 tionate. 
 
 Indeed, Come-a-Seven bade fair to be a 
 rounder. While the other cattle would be 
 sleeping peacefully on the bed-ground, the 
 young red-and-white would go up and down 
 through the herd, trying to start some excite- 
 134
 
 THE OUTLAW 
 
 ment. He always chose to walk straight 
 through the center of the recumbent host, and 
 where he passed all got to their feet uneasily. 
 The ,tired old cows would grumble at him and 
 tell him to go to bed, but he was proof against 
 all reproaches and conscience he had none. 
 
 "Damn him," grumbled a puncher on guard 
 as he watched his wanderings for the twen- 
 tieth time, and for the twentieth time turned 
 and drove back some who tried to walk out at 
 his prompting. "He's playing for a stom- 
 pede." 
 
 "I swan if it ain't Come-a- Seven!" remarked 
 Steve, when the red-and- white passed very near 
 him. "Git to bed, Come-a-Seven. I reckon 
 you're a rake." 
 
 When tired of his solitary roaming, the red- 
 and-white would select some young steer 
 weaker than himself, butt him off the bed he 
 had warmed, and compose himself to slumber. 
 Whereat a great sigh of satisfaction would be 
 heard mingled with the blowing of the cattle. 
 135
 
 THE -UNTAMED 
 
 Another year passed. When the cowboys 
 came whooping up the cattle in the following 
 August, the red-and-white heard the loud 
 shoutings and saw, with contemptuous resent- 
 ment, his fellow-creatures being propelled to- 
 ward the round-up ground. Their meekness 
 awoke hot rebellion in him. Big he was now 
 and of the strength of two. He decided he 
 would not go. 
 
 A rider caught him unawares and the sur- 
 prise of his first rush started the steer in the 
 right direction, but it failed to keep him 
 there ; for as soon as the man departed to drive 
 another bunch, the red-and-white went off at 
 a tangent. Far had he wandered in his day, 
 and he knew some brakes miles, miles away 
 where the foot of horse seldom trod. To- 
 ward these he headed. Two hundred, three 
 hundred yards, and behind him he heard the 
 familiar scramble of the pursuer. The red- 
 and-white flagged his tail and let out another 
 notch. 
 
 136
 
 THE 'OUTLAW 
 
 "Quit it, you Come-a-Seven!" Steve bawled. 
 "Blast you, git in there." 
 
 The two-year-old only ran the harder, but 
 the pony gained. Then he lost his temper and 
 made up his mind that whether or not the cow- 
 boy overtook him he would reach those brakes ; 
 if necessary he would turn about and attack. 
 His head swayed from side to side, his gait be- 
 came uncertain and he seemed worried symp- 
 toms which were not lost on Steve. When 
 the steer stopped and faced about, the horse 
 turned like a flash, and as he did so a loud, 
 querulous voice, raised in helpless anger, broke 
 up Steve's programme. That voice changed 
 the red-and-white's destiny. Indirectly it 
 saved him from the stockyards; but, then, he 
 would probably have saved himself. 
 
 "Let him go, Steve! You'll lose that other 
 bunch," the wagon boss cried. "We'll get him 
 again." 
 
 Steve waved his hat at the steer with a good- 
 natured grin and shook up his horse, departing 
 137
 
 THE UNTAMED 
 
 like a rocket to his work. The red-and-white 
 continued on toward the brakes. 
 
 That is how he became an outlaw. 
 
 In the vast Croton brakes were scores such 
 as he. Some of them were grown old and 
 hoary, and they bore many brands. A few 
 had no brands. All had run wild for years, 
 and round-ups were things of the long ago. 
 So shy were they that it was as difficult for a 
 man to approach them as to stalk a herd of 
 antelope. They kept in bands of five and six, 
 and did anything come near which one did not 
 understand, they were off like deer. 
 
 The red-and-white took to the life as his birth- 
 right. Somewhere in him ran a strain that 
 drove resistlessly to solitude and the wilds; 
 and he was happy. More than once he had to 
 fight, but he possessed an unbeatable temper 
 and had a world of craft to direct his agility 
 and colossal strength, so that he came from his 
 battles with blood-dripping horns held high and 
 proudly. 
 
 138
 
 THE OUTLAW 
 
 Rough and torn and forbidding were the 
 brakes miles on miles of red-walled canons, 
 of scrub cedar and sand-rock but the feed- 
 ing was good for so few when one knew the 
 best places, and the outlaw waxed ever 
 stronger. His horns spread, too. 
 
 Five years sped by and the outlaw fought his 
 way to kingship. 
 
 On a December day he was startled by the 
 noise of firing. Such sounds he had never 
 heard. It was not the snappy, sharp report of 
 the six-shooter, but louder and of heavier 
 metal. Suddenly fear took hold of him. 
 There was a hunt on a hunt of outlaws. The 
 horns of the free steers would bring high 
 prices, and once in a generation a party of 
 punchers came thus with rifles to gather them. 
 Come-a-Seven let out a bellow and tore away 
 at the head of his followers. 
 
 It was a terrible day for the outlaws of the 
 Croton brakes. When the bunch that trailed 
 behind the red-and-white split and scattered, 
 139
 
 THE iUNTAMED 
 
 the chase developed into mad, individual con- 
 tests of speed. The outlaw could run ; the way 
 Come-a-Seven traveled would have made an 
 ordinary range steer look like a muley cow. 
 Up and down sheer bluffs that appeared too 
 steep to climb, he ran; and cliffs seemed to 
 be highways to him. But, behind, a rider 
 spurred tenaciously, steadily diminishing the 
 distance that separated them, holding his fire 
 until he could be sure of this glorious prize. 
 Up came the rifle but it never sent forth its 
 leaden messenger. 
 
 "Gee whiz, if it ain't ol' Come-a-Seven!" 
 cried Steve. "Git a-going, boy, and keep her 
 up! Whoopee!" 
 
 With a final spurt and shout the veteran 
 puncher wheeled and came to a standstill, re- 
 garding the smashing run of the big steer with 
 a smile of admiration. The red-and-white 
 was already disappearing in the distance, far, 
 far away from all further danger of pursuit, 
 his tail held high, his head swaying. Steve 
 140
 
 THE OUTLAW 
 
 watched him until he topped a rise and disap- 
 peared. He had lost a goodly prize; but he 
 was content. He chuckled as he recalled the 
 steer's past misdeeds on the bed-ground. 
 
 The outlaw went back to his remotest fast- 
 nesses. He may be there yet, boss of the Cro- 
 ton brakes. 
 
 141
 
 SHIELA 
 
 A PANTHER'S scream split the whine 
 of the wind and Shiela reared herself 
 in front of the fire, her body retched 
 by an answering challenge. 
 
 "Shee-la," her master rebuked. "Lie down, 
 
 girl." 
 
 The wolfhound sank to the floor with a re- 
 luctant flop, but the hairs on her neck and 
 along her spine bristled still. She continued 
 to rumble. 
 
 There were four men playing at cards in 
 the bunkhouse. Cold weather had set in and 
 the Tumbling H outfit were eating out their 
 hearts in winter camps. Here at headquarters, 
 the range boss, wagon boss, blacksmith and 
 cook played half the day at seven-up and 
 pitch; and listened to Mit's varying accounts 
 142
 
 SHIELA 
 
 of high life in the East, as he had plumbed it 
 in Fort Worth; and raved at the climate and 
 cursed petty annoyances with the savage irri- 
 tability of full-blooded men lacking enough to 
 do. 
 
 "Hark to that ol' wind," mourned the wagon 
 boss he was fifty and considered fourteen 
 hours a day in the saddle mere child's play 
 "It was sixty-six above this morning, and now 
 it's zero. No wonder a man cain't be healthy." 
 
 The others nodded gravely and the cook 
 shuffled the cards. 
 
 "It's a wonder, Steve," he observed, "that 
 you don't my deal? you don't try that dog 
 in wolf huntin'. Not by herself, but with a 
 bunch of 'em." 
 
 "Wait till she's used to the country and has 
 got her growth. Then you'll see." 
 
 Mit remarked that he referred, of course, to 
 
 the hunting of coyotes, which prompted a 
 
 passionate declaration from the wagon boss 
 
 that the range ought to be cleared of these 
 
 143
 
 THE 'UNTAMED 
 
 pests. They killed too many calves in bad 
 years : poison 'em, he urged. Nobody opposed 
 objection and they went on with the game. 
 Then from the mouth of the canon came to the 
 ears of the players the vibrant cry of the lobo. 
 Right upon it broke Shiela's roar of defiance, 
 and the beast was at the door in a bound, 
 whimpering frenziedly, her terrible teeth 
 bared. Beside her, his head three inches short 
 of Shiela's breast, Friday stiffened in sympa- 
 thetic rage, his stubby tail wagging. He 
 raised a shrill treble bark. 
 
 "Down, Shee-la! Down, girl." Running 
 from the table, O'Donnell led her back to the 
 fire. 
 
 "Friday, you come here," the blacksmith 
 cried. "Lay down under the table, and don't 
 you go for to move I" 
 
 Not to cattle-browsed stretches of prairie 
 
 land had Shiela been reared, nor to vast sweep 
 
 of hills and mesquite-flecked valleys, and of 
 
 torn, brick-red sandstone and tortuous, dry; 
 
 144
 
 SHIELA 
 
 river-beds. She was a stranger in a strange 
 land, and her new kingdom struck to the roots 
 of her nature. Far as she could wander in a 
 frivolous all-day rabbit hunt with Friday was 
 no sign of human habitation ; and beyond that, 
 away to the pale-blue line that must surely be 
 the rim of all things, full sixty miles, no 
 handiwork of man was visible. Here was an 
 unspoiled empire, and her master was the au- 
 tocrat. For the first time in her life the wolf- 
 hound drew the breath of unrestrained liberty, 
 chafed hotly to the tang of the air, cast about 
 and trailed wild creatures whose taint stirred 
 her to mad longings for the chase and a fight. 
 How can one tell of Shiela's beauty? A 
 great animal and a wonderful light fawn in 
 color, with a shaggy coat. Her eyes were in 
 general gentle and melting. But it must be 
 confessed that her proportions did not fit 
 Shiela to be a comfort about the home, for she 
 weighed a hundred and eighteen pounds and 
 could not go under the tallest table without 
 145
 
 THE UNTAMED 
 
 stooping. As she always forgot to stoop, her 
 progress was fraught with excitement. 
 
 On the day following her arrival, the cook 
 scrambled out of bed long before sunup to as- 
 certain what manner of idiot could be knock- 
 ing on the door in this deserted region. Man 
 alive, why couldn't they walk in? Shiela 
 leaped on him to be fondled the wolfhound 
 had been wagging her tail against the door as 
 she lay across the threshold. 
 
 "Ef I was you," Mit suggested civilly, "I'd 
 lay out on the range where you'd have room to 
 move round. Git a nice big butte all to your- 
 
 Her heart and her courage were big as her 
 body. Following O'Donnell on a day when he 
 fared to Stinking Water, quite by accident she 
 roused up a loafer in the canon. Shiela flew 
 in pursuit, deaf to O'Donnell's frantic com- 
 mands to come back. And when the wolf 
 turned fiercely at bay to pit her might against 
 this daring hunter, a hundred and eighteen 
 146
 
 SHIELA 
 
 pounds of dauntless pluck launched itself at 
 her neck like a bolt from a storm-cloud. 
 
 "She's a dead one now," O'Donnell groaned, 
 circling for a shot. "She's a goner, sure." 
 
 Had the wolfhound been more wary, she 
 would have fared better. She could not have 
 slain her foe; the dog does not breathe that 
 can go to the death-grapple with a loafer wolf 
 in the flush of his strength; and Shiela knew 
 neither the amazing quickness of the wild, nor 
 how to guard against those slashing counter- 
 attacks. The lobo could dodge and rip simul- 
 taneously, using her jaws from any direction. 
 Even when bowled over by the hound's un- 
 reckoning rush, she tore Shiela's throat with a 
 backward thrust of her muzzle and was free 
 in a twinkling. Badly cut in several places, 
 dazed by the speed of the combat, the wolf- 
 hound was soon forced to let her go. 
 
 Shiela and Friday were fast friends, albeit 
 the diversity of dimensions was productive of 
 intermittent rancor. It was Friday's wont to 
 147,
 
 THE [UNTAMED 
 
 rush at her fiercely, to seize one powerful leg 
 in his mouth 'and worry it, whereat Shiela 
 would hit him a playful pat that sent him reel- 
 ing ten yards. But Friday came of a staunch 
 breed, and he returned to the sport again and 
 again. Often the wolfhound would stretch 
 herself out on the ground, and thus recumbent, 
 the fox-terrior could almost reach her head. 
 Over Shiela would roll, lying on her back with 
 legs in the air, while Friday snorted and 
 grunted valorously as he shook her by the 
 throat or the ear. But the fun always ended 
 in the same way: a clumsy blow would catch 
 Friday full on the head and he would dash off 
 to his master with cries of pain. 
 
 "Steve oughtn't for to keep her round head- 
 quarters," the blacksmith remonstrated to 
 Dick. "She's shore too big. Pore li'l Friday ! 
 When she gits into my shop, Dick, I swan her 
 ol* tail is like to send my tools flying which- 
 ways." 
 
 "Where'd he keep her, then? He cain't 
 148
 
 SHIELA 
 
 turn her out on the range to eat grass," sneered 
 Dick. 
 
 The blacksmith was silenced, but there was 
 born in him a dislike of the hound. It hap- 
 pened that, when next the terrier came yelping 
 from play, O'Donnell had ridden off to a 
 tank. The blacksmith issued from the shop 
 and hurled a bolt at Shiela. She dodged, but 
 did not run, and the bristles on her neck stiff- 
 ened in warning. 
 
 Aside from the manager, who 'spent much of 
 the year with his family in Denver, the black- 
 smith was the only married man with the 
 Tumbling H outfit. He had a son three years 
 of age. Oscar was the child's name, a 
 sturdy, ruddy-cheeked youngster he was 
 and from the outset he was the apple of Shiela's 
 eye. The boy could pull her ears or tail with 
 absolute impunity, and into the yawning cav- 
 ity she would open to his teasing, he would 
 thrust a chubby fist. 
 
 "Oscar! Oscar! My baby, don't," his 
 149
 
 THE UNTAMED 
 
 mother would cry. But Shiela was infinitely 
 tender with him, and the two would roll on the 
 ground in a tight embrace, while the child 
 thumped a tattoo on the wolfhound's ribs. 
 
 It befell on a morning that they indulged in 
 this frolic until both were in a state of un- 
 bridled excitement. Crowing with delight, the 
 baby staggered to his feet and tried to butt 
 Shiela with his head. Forgetting for a frac- 
 tion of time how fragile was this cherished 
 morsel of humanity, the wolfhound struck out 
 joyously with her paw, bowling him over like 
 a ninepin. As he went backward, the boy es- 
 'sayed to break his fall on the ground by thrust- 
 ing out his left arm ; it doubled under him and 
 snapped at the elbow. 
 
 A single wailing cry brought his father run- 
 ning from the smithy. Oscar lay white-faced, 
 the wolfhound nosing him eagerly in an en- 
 deavor to stir the baby to a resumption of play. 
 Flinging a curse at the dog, the blacksmith 
 picked up his son and carried him to his mother. 
 150
 
 SHIELA 
 
 Ten minutes passed, which Shiela spent in vain 
 efforts to ascertain what kept her playmate 
 from her, and Peck emerged from the bunk- 
 house with a shotgun. The quick-sensing 
 Shiela disappeared without further ado around 
 a corner of the saddle-shed; but, as the black- 
 smith followed on a run, O'Donnell's voice 
 stayed him. 
 
 "What're you doing with that gun, Peck?" 
 
 "Shiela done broke Oscar's arm, and I aim 
 to git even that's what." 
 
 "Don't be a fool!" the boss cried sharply. 
 
 Peck faced him, his lips twitching. 
 
 "I may do more'n shoot a bitch, Steve," he 
 said, and his voice was calm now. 
 
 "You don't mean that, Peck." The range 
 boss continued to advance, his eyes on the 
 troubled eyes of the blacksmith. "Shee-la and 
 little Oscar have always been friends. Didn't 
 she pull him out of the creek only last week? 
 She couldn't have smashed his arm on pur- 
 pose. You can't blame a dog for an accident." 
 151
 
 THE UNTAMED 
 
 The blacksmith cursed Shiela to the eight- 
 ieth generation; but O'Donnell smiled and 
 tapped the barrel of the gun with his fore- 
 finger. There would be no shooting of man or 
 dog now, he knew. 
 
 "Put it away, Peck. We'll forget all about 
 it. I'll ride over to Deadeye and bring the 
 doctor myself." 
 
 The blacksmith wavered and obeyed. 
 
 Little Oscar was soon able to toddle about, 
 with his arm in a cast and a sling. But Peck's 
 dislike for the hound grew to hate. In the 
 short winter days and long winter nights he 
 watched and brooded, waiting for an oppor- 
 tunity to make her suffer. His hostility to the 
 soft-eyed, affectionate Shiela took the form of 
 an intense nervous sensibility to her every 
 movement one sees precisely the same symp- 
 toms in persons who are unhappily cooped up 
 for any length of time. Soon the bigness of 
 the animal grated on his nerves, so that what- 
 ever she did excited in him childish spleen. 
 152
 
 SHIELA 
 
 Even when Shiela ate, Peck could not look at 
 her magnificent satisfaction without falling 
 into a paroxysm of loathing. 
 
 Once he spread pieces of meat cunningly 
 about the saddle-shed where she was wont to 
 loll while the child slept in the afternoons. 
 Shiela espied and swallowed these tidbits with 
 much relish, and stalked away to get a drink, 
 feeling unaccountably thirsty. There was no 
 water in the trough; and that saved her life. 
 Soon a tremor came upon the wolfhound, so 
 that she swayed uncertainly, her nose close to 
 the ground, froth slathering her muzzle. 
 
 At this moment Oscar rocketed from the 
 bunkhouse at his usual ungainly gallop. The 
 boy knew exactly what to do. Had he not en- 
 dured agony, too? There was only one sure 
 remedy for belly-pains, and it stood on a shelf 
 in the kitchen he never passed the shelf with- 
 out a certain creeping of the flesh. How he 
 forced castor oil upon the dog is one of those 
 modern miracles that are wrought for babes 
 153
 
 THE UNTAMED 
 
 and the inebriated. At any rate, with only 
 one arm free, he administered a glorious dose, 
 and, feeling full of pity for the tortures of 
 which she mumbled so weakly, he followed it 
 with generous hunks of greasy bacon purloined 
 from the big brown crockery jar in the pantry. 
 Shiela became violently ill and Oscar feared 
 for her life. 
 
 "Dick! Dick! She sick. Hurry, oh 
 hurry!" Oscar ran to summon help. 
 
 Shiela survived, and O'Donnell devoted the 
 better part of a day to impassioned disserta- 
 tions on the folly of leaving strychnine baits 
 for coyotes round the saddle-shed. 
 
 One evening in midwinter, the range boss, 
 Dick, the cook, and Peck sat in the bunkhouse, 
 as usual, trifling with a pile of dominos. 
 Shiela lay dozing in front of the fire. The 
 wolfhound had shown considerable restlessness 
 of late and Dick had cautioned O'Donnell to 
 chain her up. It came Hit's turn to play and, 
 as he was ponderously miring himself, the 
 154
 
 SHIELA 
 
 night silence was rent by the hunting cry of 
 the* loafer. So near was it, so savagely com- 
 pelling, that the men sent the benches back in 
 amaze. The effect on Shiela was extraordi- 
 nary. She was at the door, scratching for her 
 liberty, whining, turning appealing eyes to 
 O'Donnell that he should open. 
 
 Dick gazed at the range boss and waggled 
 his wise bald head. "You better lock her up, 
 Steve, or you'll shore lose that ol' dog." 
 
 She was locked in the smithy the next even- 
 ing, and in the morning the shed was empty. 
 O'Donnell was positive that the staple and chain 
 on the door had been secure when he left her 
 the night before; yet now the staple dangled 
 free, with a splinter attached. Reflecting that 
 the hound's weight made this feat possible, he 
 ceased to speculate; and in the blacksmith's 
 soul entered peace. Shiela had fled. 
 
 The Wednesday following fell blustery, with 
 a bullying wind, and the range boss sat late at 
 his table, working over a cattle tally by the 
 155
 
 THE UNTAMED 
 
 light of a lantern. A timid scratching on the 
 door-sill disturbed him, and he listened curi- 
 ously. There it was again, this time accom- 
 panied by a plaintive whine. He reached the 
 handle in a stride. 
 
 "Shee-la! Shee-la, old girl!" His glad cry 
 brought Mit running. Shiela slunk into the 
 room and crossed to the fire, which she sniffed 
 doubtfully and then lay down in front of it. 
 Down her throat and across her left shoulder 
 burned cherry-colored slashes. She touched 
 her tongue to them and began to clean her 
 soiled coat, while O'Donnell stood watching, 
 lost in wonder. The wolfhound growled as 
 he moved, but he laughed affectionately and 
 stooped to the fearfully lowered head. 
 
 "So you've come back like the prodigal," 
 he whispered. "Poor, poor Shee-la !" 
 
 "Mit," he bawled the next instant, "kill the 
 spotted calf, or the fatted heifer, or whatever 
 else will do. She's hungry." 
 
 Not being conversant with the tale of the 
 156
 
 SHIEEA 
 
 erring son, the cook roared back a request to 
 Steve to have sense didn't he know there 
 wasn't a calf in the pen? 
 
 "Bring some beef, then," laughed the 
 boss. 
 
 The animal's eyes followed her master fur- 
 tively. He noted that flickering gleam with a 
 pang the fear and suspicion of the hunted in 
 it. So much had three days with the wild 
 linked up the slack chain of her blood tie. 
 Then presently she licked his hand, and the 
 look that answered his was soft and appealing 
 as of old. 
 
 "Here's enough to choke her," announced 
 Mit cheerily, entering with a slab of beef. 
 
 The hound sprang at him and the cook, tak- 
 ing no chances, hurled the raw meat into the 
 air. She caught it as it touched the floor and 
 tore into it with the desperate zest of the 
 famished. 
 
 The days drifted one into another, and the 
 Tumbling H men rose and ate and slept, and 
 157;
 
 THE UNTAMED 
 
 rose again, which is the sum of many lives. 
 Of work there could be little until the spring 
 rains fell. Would the good days of the 
 roundup never come? Oh, the sweltering 
 hours in the saddle, and the hellowings of 
 mighty herds, and the choking dust of the 
 corrals in branding! 
 
 Shiela was carefully guarded. In the first 
 of the mild weather she contributed to the 
 bustling cheer of the bunkhouse a litter of four 
 lusty pups. It was as much as a man's life 
 was worth to go nearer than six feet to the 
 tugging little rascals; but the boy Oscar, who 
 did not know this, proceeded calmly to inspect 
 and caress them. The mother flared in a sud- 
 den, quaping rage, but instantly sank back and 
 became reconciled to the extent of permitting 
 the baby, quite undaunted by his first recep- 
 tion, to stroke her progeny with his pudgy 
 hands. She watched him jealously. 
 
 Summer rushed upon the land, and the 
 Tumbling H outfit got to horse and rode forth. 
 158
 
 SHIELA 
 
 In November O'Donnell shipped seven thou- 
 sand head of steers to help stay the world's 
 maw, and in December there were four men 
 playing at cards again in the bunkhouse. 
 
 "Steve," the cook cleared his throat as he 
 riffled the cards, "is it my deal? Shore. 
 Say, Steve, one of Shiela's pups is killing 
 chickens. He'd 'a got a turkey too, only I 
 done seen him." 
 
 "You ought for to have killed 'em all when 
 they were teeny pups, Steve," broke in the 
 blacksmith. "What was the use of keeping 
 two? Anyone kin see they're more wolf than 
 dog." 
 
 "It's your play," the boss said evenly. 
 
 Shiela had the run of quarters, but her 
 broad- jowled, heavy-shouldered pups were 
 chained in the smithy. Just what to do with 
 them was a problem. Shiela had exhibited no 
 special aif ection since they were weaned, and it 
 needed only the merest glance to detect the bar 
 sinister. Had only the eyes been visible, there 
 159
 
 THE UNTAMED 
 
 was that in their glint which betrayed the wolf. 
 Yet, in the tawny coats and a certain lithe 
 spring in gathering for a stride, the young- 
 sters favored their mother. 
 
 A loafer wolf made a foray from the canon 
 on a Sunday night, when the range boss and 
 Mit played seven-up and the blacksmith poi- 
 soned life with a concertina. He killed a milch- 
 pen calf close to headquarters; yet so silent 
 was the raid that the men heard nothing of it, 
 though Shiela cried protests to be gone and 
 growled at intervals. In the smithy the pups 
 bayed deep-voiced greetings. They leaped 
 and snapped their teeth, and gnawed and raved 
 to be free. Forgetting that O'Donnell had 
 unchained them, Dick went to the door to still 
 the brutes. They hurled themselves over 
 him. 
 
 " Here's where the trouble starts, Shee-la," 
 observed her master dubiously. She wagged 
 her tail and looked up at him in curiosity, for 
 she had practically forgotten the pups. 
 160
 
 SHIELA 
 
 It was a bitter winter, and the cattle sick- 
 <ened and died in hundreds. The men rode 
 range in all weathers, setting out oil-cake and 
 salt; hut what help could he given to thirty 
 thousand head? Carrion waxed fat. And 
 then, one day in Deadeye, whither he had 
 journeyed for supplies at the first hint of 
 spring, the range boss stumbled on a strange 
 tale. The wolves were out, bolder and 
 stronger than they had been in a generation. 
 They were making no stealthy, lone hunts, a 
 swift leap from the dark upon a helpless 
 thing, and then the gorge, but waged an al- 
 most systematic war of pillage. The leader 
 w r as a shaggy veteran of speckled gray that ran 
 with a limp ; and with him the men of Dead- 
 eye hoped they might perish horribly were this 
 not so with him there ran two fawn-colored 
 wolves like no lobo of the west country. They 
 were, perhaps, slightly shorter than a cow- 
 horse ; that is, of course, a strong roping horse, 
 not a stunted pony. 
 
 161
 
 THE UNTAMED 
 
 "Shee-la, you've surely done it now," O'Don- 
 nell told her with a sigh. She thrust her moist 
 muzzle into his hand to be petted. 
 
 In less than seven days' time Padden re- 
 ported from a division camp that he had come 
 on the carcass of a freshly killed heifer near 
 a salt trough. The wolves had hamstrung the 
 poor hrute and had fallen to their grim feast 
 before life was extinct, he thought; which is 
 not unusual. O'Donnell vowed a war of ex- 
 termination. 
 
 The mail-carrier came upon the pack cast- 
 ing about beside the trail, at fault in running 
 an antelope. They let him approach within 
 two hundred yards, gazing insolently, then 
 flitted swiftly through a jungle of mesquite 
 trees. His story was that beside the wily gray 
 scoundrel that led, raced two tall creatures, 
 half wolf, half dog, which ran with a long, 
 springy stride foreign to lobo locomotion. 
 
 "It's Shiela's pups," the blacksmith ex- 
 claimed venomously, when the mail-carrier re- 
 lated this experience at dinner. 
 162
 
 SHIELA 
 
 "Yes, they're Shee-la's pups," O'Donnell ad- 
 mitted; and, "Poor Shee-la!" he said. Then 
 raising his voice with decision: 
 
 "Johnson, you tell them in Deadeye that I'll 
 give fifty dollars each for those pups, and 
 fifty for the old gray fellow. Put up a notice 
 in the post-office. Or wait, I'll write one for 
 you." 
 
 The result of this placard was an egress from 
 Deadeye of eight ambitious hunters, who went 
 their several ways, wishful to earn two months' 
 pay by a lucky shot. They straggled back 
 empty-handed at the end of a week. While 
 they were thus engaged, the pack ranged wide. 
 They killed at Cedar Creek, but were com- 
 pelled to abandon their prey, and slew again 
 before daylight on a nester's place on the out- 
 skirts of Deadeye. Here, too, they let the life 
 out of an interfering collie. Long immunity 
 had made them contemptuous or was it that 
 they gave ear to the counsels of man-raised 
 mates? They raided the Tumbling H head- 
 quarters in guest of certain turkeys that were 
 163
 
 THE UNTAMED 
 
 Mit's solace in dark days, and from ambuscade 
 the cook slew his finest gobbler with buckshot, 
 in a berserker effort to shoot one lissome ma- 
 rauder. 
 
 Shiela and Friday led uneventful lives amid 
 all this harrying and turmoil of pursuit. They 
 frisked and wrestled on the baked, cracked 
 ground, or basked in the sun until it grew too 
 hot and the flies became unbearable in attack, 
 when they would slouch to the cool of the 
 long bunk-room. Shiela had forgotten all 
 about her degenerate offspring, and held her- 
 self fearlessly and with pride as an honest 
 
 dog- 
 More than once she and the terrier took 
 jaunts over the low hills toward the canon, in 
 spite of the watch on her goings-out. It might 
 be a rabbit they pursued, or the zigzagging 
 trail of a coyote ; or it might be that rare scent, 
 the antelope's. One afternoon they disported 
 themselves, chasing some half -wild hogs that 
 roamed the range. 
 
 164
 
 SHIELA 
 
 A long-snouted porker of tender years was 
 rooting about a patch of bear-grass, when 
 suddenly he cocked his impudent nose and ap- 
 peared to listen intently. Shiela and Friday 
 stopped short in a game of tag, to watch. The 
 pig did not turn his head, but continued to 
 stand at attention, his ears twitching. What 
 could it mean? Shiela crept closer. With a 
 speed that left her dumbfounded, the pig 
 sprang sidewise on to a spot his glance had 
 certainly not been regarding, and simulta- 
 neously tore with his jaws at a writhing, earth- 
 colored coil. Shiela drew off respectfully and 
 in trepidation, while he devoured his victim 
 with beautiful hog voracity. It was the 
 dreaded rattler, which he had killed with two 
 lightning strokes of forefeet and jaws. 
 
 So the days passed. 
 
 In the meantime, O'Donnell had other things 
 
 than Shiela or wolves to think about. The 
 
 manager had resigned, and the boss added to 
 
 the superintendence of the active work of the 
 
 165
 
 THE UNTAMED 
 
 range, the conduct of the business of tfie 
 Tumbling H company, the sale and the ship- 
 ping of Tumbling H cattle. He was an enthu- 
 siast on improving the breed of his cattle and 
 horses ; and his anger was deep, therefore, when 
 late in the autumn his men found the remains of 
 a young stallion. He was a splendid beast, but 
 newly come from Kentucky, and ignorant of 
 perils and the necessity for perpetual vigilance. 
 Apparently he had been cut out from the band 
 he lorded it over, sheer foolhardiness, this 
 and, alone in the battle against heavy odds, had 
 been pulled down. That he died full of fight 
 was sufficiently evident: the battered body of 
 an exceptionally large young wolf lay on the 
 ground beside his own. 
 
 Shiela sniffed at the carcass of this creature, 
 then moved away unconcernedly, circling for 
 another scent ; but the hide caught O'Donnell's 
 gaze and held it. The coat was of a peculiar 
 tawny hue, running in spots to red. There was 
 something in the lines of the body and legs that 
 166
 
 SHIELA 
 
 struck a reminiscent chord in his memory. He 
 glanced from it to Shiela, turning the body 
 over with his foot. 
 
 "If that isn't one of your litter, old girl, I'm 
 much mistaken," he said. 
 
 Shiela, then, must atone. With all the dogs 
 of Deadeye to help, she should hunt these bold 
 ravagers. Hers was the crime; hers must be 
 the expiation, even at the cost of life. 
 
 "Well, old girl," he said, as he ambled away 
 from headquarters three days later, with Shiela 
 beside him, "here's your one chance to wipe 
 out your little slip. A lot of us humans 
 don't get that, my lady. So go to it and clear 
 your name, Shee-la." 
 
 There were twenty-five dogs on hand at the 
 rendezvous, about thirteen more than were 
 needed, and they ranged from bloodhounds and 
 greyhounds to a wheezy water-spaniel, which 
 thought he knew a scent when he struck it, and 
 whose master fondled the same delusion of 
 him. His presence led to a dispute at the out- 
 167
 
 THE UNTAMED 
 
 set, because the spaniel persisted in messing 
 about and mugging a trail, and his owner pig- 
 headedly abetted him. The owner was set in 
 argument, and carried a long, smooth-bore 
 rifle. However, both were persuaded to go 
 home, quite convinced that spiteful jealousy 
 was at the bottom of this attitude. 
 
 "So that's Shiela?" queried a Gourd 
 puncher. "I reckon you ought to kill her, 
 O'Donnell. It's her pup and his father what's 
 raising all the hell. She might run away ag'in 
 and" 
 
 "She's my dog, Joe," the boss cut in. 
 
 Hard upon his words, old Rags gave tongue 
 and went away on a warm scent. Luck was 
 with the hunters. Within two miles the dogs 
 were running free, their noses in the air, mak- 
 ing the ridges ring to their eager yelping ; and 
 a wolf, a tawny, limber-limbed wolf, smashed 
 through a tangle of weeds and briars at the 
 head of a gulch and streaked across the open 
 country. The pack laid themselves out in pur- 
 168
 
 SHIELA 
 
 suit, Shiela and the greyhounds running si- 
 lently. 
 
 The wolfhound was well up with the lead- 
 ers. A dozen strides would have brought the 
 quarry to bay, when a speckled gray shape 
 burst into view beneath her feet and departed 
 at a tangent to her line of running, heading 
 for a shallow draw. Shiela and one greyhound 
 swerved and dashed after him. The others of 
 the pack kept on behind the flagging fugitive. 
 
 Everything was against the gray. He was 
 old, and the combats and the hunts of years 
 had stiffened his muscles. He was full fed 
 and heavy; slumbering, he had blundered into 
 the chase when he could have lain low. The 
 two silent things behind earned in their sinewy 
 bodies the speed and stamina of generations of 
 dogs whose special business in life it had been 
 to run. A wall of earth faced them, the bank 
 of a dried stream, and he must scale it in his 
 flight. Well he knew that the race was over. 
 He must fight, and as well here as elsewhere. 
 169
 
 THE UNTAMED 
 
 When it comes to the last test of courage, the 
 king of wolves is indeed a king. 
 
 A rapid glance over his shoulder showed 
 him the greyhound almost at his flank. He 
 reached the bank by a desperate spurt, whirled, 
 and with one rending stroke, cast back the first 
 pursuer, coughing in the throes of death. But 
 the shock of the charge shook him for an in- 
 stant and in that fraction of time he was un- 
 prepared to withstand the crushing velocity 
 of Shiela's onslaught. On his hind legs, his 
 worn fangs gleaming, he received her. She 
 went straight for his throat, and the grip be- 
 ing an eminently satisfactory one, she did not 
 release it. 
 
 To and fro the big gray dragged her, over 
 and over, tearing with his forefeet to pry her 
 off, snapping his wide jaws in futile efforts to 
 seize his enemy. His hind claws ripped un- 
 availingly along the wolfhound's sides; he 
 writhed and twisted to gain an inch of freedom 
 for his head only an inch, and he could reach 
 170
 
 SHIELA 
 
 her shoulder. Once only Shiela growled, a 
 deep, rumbling note of content. She knew 
 what she had to do, and she felt this to be the 
 right way. Slowly her jaws tightened and 
 she hung to him soundlessly. The rasping 
 snarls grew fainter; the tremendous heavings 
 and lurchings slackened. The old lord of the 
 canon had made his last fight. 
 
 It was O'Donnell who drove her off. 
 Blown but triumphant, he raced from the 
 slaughter of the first quarry, and gave a long 
 whistle of incredulity at sight of the slain. 
 
 "Father and son father and son in one 
 day," he exclaimed. Then, "Poor Shee-la." 
 
 As they trotted cheerily homeward, the 
 wolfhound kept close to O'Donnell's horse, and 
 whenever she glanced up at him, frisking 
 clumsily the while, he grinned down at her. 
 
 "You've wiped out your fault, Shee-la. 
 
 You've done more than most," he observed 
 
 seriously, as they neared the ranch. "I 
 
 thought once I'd have to send you away. Or 
 
 171
 
 THE UNTAMED 
 
 or send you out on the long trail." Shiela 
 leaped playfully at his horse's bridle. "But 
 we'll stick together. Only," he drew a deep 
 breath, "we'll take a holiday. We'll go back 
 back home to County Mayo, old girl." 
 
 
 172
 
 VI 
 MOLLY 
 
 IT may be there are persons who will scoff 
 at the assertion that there is more of senti- 
 ment in a cow than in any creature of four 
 legs that walks the earth. Cavilers, these 
 hard-shelled individuals who look at the gentle 
 bovine through the eye of commercialism, not 
 gifted to see beyond her barnyard activities to- 
 ward the nourishment of mankind. It is rea- 
 sonably established that one may approach a 
 horse in comradely security, confident of fair 
 play. The rules as to hybrids are these: you 
 walk up to a mule in a spirit of veneration and 
 religious preparedness, wearing a sickly aspect 
 of confidence. And you quaver soothing 
 words and carry a club behind your back. 
 But toward a cow ah, that is different. 
 173
 
 THE UNTAMED 
 
 Here is a mainstay of life, a pillar and prop 
 of civilization. Here is well, a cow is a cow. 
 Why, there was the time when three hundred 
 furiously anxious, bawling mothers smashed 
 out of a stout wooden corral on the Turkey 
 Track range and laid a straight course across 
 seven leagues of territory, in quest of their 
 helpless progeny, mercilessly cooped in cars at 
 a railroad siding, awaiting shipment to an Ari- 
 zona butcher. They kept two well-grown men 
 atop a water-tank for five hours, and but to 
 attempt a citation of cases would be idle. This 
 is the simple tale of Molly. 
 
 She was not an especially pretty animal, 
 Molly just plain cow, dun in color, with a 
 Jersey strain somewhere among her remote 
 forebears. Yet, one could not gaze on Molly 
 for long without a feeling of profound respect 
 pervading his soul. It was not because one 
 could see with half an eye that she gave large 
 quantities of milk; that was merely the per- 
 formance of her natural functions. Nor was 
 174
 
 MOLLY 
 
 it that her wistful regard suggested all the sor- 
 rows of her sex. Molly in some way made a 
 subtle appeal to sympathy that cannot be 
 voiced. 
 
 As a matter of fact, she ought to have been 
 the pampered occupant of a clover field by day 
 and of a stall by night. Instead, she was 
 roaming the zacaton flats of the Tumbling K 
 and losing herself among the blackbrush 
 ridges, in vague wonder that the world was 
 grown so large. Designed to be a respectable 
 milch-cow on a dairy farm, here she was in the 
 heart of a wilderness, and all because of a boy. 
 
 He came among us, pink and white and fear- 
 fully clean ; and he was the owner's son. There 
 were eleven thousand cows in our domain, but 
 milk had been a thing of rumor to the outfit, 
 perhaps because it is inconvenient to milk on 
 horseback. Now, however, Vance shoved his 
 legs under the boards at the bunk-house and 
 objected to clear, biting coffee. So, when he 
 departed blacker than a Mexican, with a two 
 175
 
 THE UNTAMED 
 
 months' beard and overalls sustained by a 
 strand of rope, babbling wild things of a bath 
 he would take, a bath that would endure for a 
 day and a night, we still had Molly. 
 
 "That cow's got a mind, I tell you," Uncle 
 Henry assured the outfit at supper. "She's 
 got a mind jist like you or me, Dave, only 
 better than yourn. Pass them frijoles." 
 
 Perhaps Molly did have a mind. At any 
 rate, she was humanly lonesome. To be the 
 only one of her kind in a tract of five thou- 
 sand acres they kept her in the horse pasture 
 was depressing to a companionable disposi- 
 tion. The bronchos on the river flats and 
 mesquite-clothed hills were shy, wild creatures, 
 subject to alarms and foolish panic. With 
 mild wonder she would watch them break into 
 a run at a sound or a strange scent. They 
 were masterful, too, always driving her away 
 from the water-holes and the salt until they 
 had had their fill. Instinctively she was afraid 
 when one of them approached with careless 
 176
 
 MOLLY 
 
 confidence that she would give place. Yet, 
 though unhappy, Molly never overlooked her 
 duty, and each morning and each evening she 
 stood quiet while Uncle Henry milked her, oc- 
 casionally rumbHng a note of satisfaction or 
 sweeping at a fly with cautious backward 
 swings of her head. Uncle Henry was becom- 
 ing too stiff for hard riding, and now spent 
 most of his time trying to persuade himself 
 and others that the odd jobs he applied him- 
 self to were of his own choosing. 
 
 One morning Molly awoke to turmoil. 
 Wondrous noises came to her on the west wind, 
 and she arose and walked to the imprisoning 
 fence. Truly the Tumbling K was become a 
 Babel. In the wide, browned valleys, on the 
 mesas, and far into the fastnesses of the Mules, 
 bulls and cows and clumsy calves were on the 
 march, with riders hanging in rear. Molly 
 could hear the churning of the hosts on 
 the round-up ground, and to her nostrils was 
 wafted the taint of the dust belching heaven- 
 177
 
 THE UNTAMED 
 
 ward in clouds. For the Tumbling K range 
 was to be divided, and eight thousand head 
 must be turned over to the retiring part- 
 ner. 
 
 Where did all the cattle come from? Molly 
 had never dreamed there were such hordes of 
 her kind in the world. Armies of them filed 
 by in long lines, the cowboys on flank and in 
 rear shouting, whistling, spurring into the press 
 in their efforts to urge the herds forward. 
 Molly stood at the barb-wire fence most of the 
 day, staring at this rally of her species. Some- 
 times she bawled a troubled greeting. 
 
 And the little calves ! Many a toddling 
 new-born, strayed from its mother and solicit- 
 ous of protection, staggered out to sniff at the 
 kindly disposed creature that nosed it so ten- 
 derly from the other side of a four-strand 
 barrier. All night the trampling of sleepless 
 thousands and the bawling of steers and wor- 
 ried cows came to disturb Molly's slumbers. 
 The bed-ground for the herds was not four 
 178
 
 MOLLY 
 
 hundred yards distant from the pasture fence. 
 She could see tiny intermittent lights move 
 slowly about them in a wide circle, where the 
 men on guard smoked as they rode their 
 rounds. 
 
 Next day her heart was filled with forebod- 
 ings and uneasiness. Hundreds of cattle were 
 driven into an extensive corral within the con- 
 fines of her pasture, and thence, in small groups, 
 they went into a chute, propelled by the whoops 
 and outcries of sundry reckless horsemen who 
 crowded their rear. Molly watched and won- 
 dered. She saw these cattle forced singly into 
 a narrow runway; she saw them caught fast 
 in a squeezer, heard their bellows of consterna- 
 tion and fright; and then there reached her 
 the stinging odor of burned hair, when the 
 branding irons seared the flesh. Upon which 
 Molly would flip her tail in the air and lope 
 away. But she always returned ; much as she 
 feared it, she could not leave this anguished 
 assemblage. 
 
 179
 
 THE UNTAMED 
 
 It was Uncle Henry who discovered that the 
 arrival of the herds was demoralizing our faith- 
 ful benefactor. She no longer grazed se- 
 dately; even the succulent grama-grass of the 
 creek-bottom failed to hold her, and she walked 
 the barb-wire ceaselessly day and night. Her 
 weight fell off in alarming fashion, and when, 
 on the third evening, Uncle Henry approached 
 with outstretched hand and honeyed speech, 
 and the milk-pail cunningly concealed, she 
 shook her big, patient head and moved off. 
 He followed, and she quickened her pace. 
 
 "Consarn your fat haid!" roared Uncle 
 Henry, never a patient man. "Hold still or 
 I'll take the hide off 'n you." 
 
 He tore after Molly, threatening dire visita- 
 tions. Now, it takes an extremely clever per- 
 son to circumvent a determined cow, when he 
 is on foot and she has five thousand acres in 
 which to manceuver, and Uncle Henry re- 
 turned to headquarters, howling for somebody 
 to lend him a horse and he would drag that old 
 180
 
 MOLLY 
 
 fool clear to Texas. We went without milk 
 that night, and grumbled and swore precisely 
 as if we had had nothing else all our lives. 
 . 
 
 "Hi-yi! Bear down on him, cowboys. 
 More frijoles here!" 
 
 With a yell, Big John sprang to the lever of 
 the squeezer and threw all his strength on it, 
 gripping a plunging steer about the middle as 
 he strove to win through the chute. 
 
 "Hot iron! Hot iron!" the wagon boss 
 shrieked. "Somebody build that fire up. All 
 right. That's got him, Cas." 
 
 Molly hung about near the corral, gazing on 
 these frenzied activities in consternation. It 
 was early morning and low-hanging mists were 
 shredding before the sun. 
 
 Some calves passed through the chute by in- 
 advertence. Being too small for the squeezer 
 to hold, they were noosed as they came out, and 
 branded on the ground. One was so tiny that 
 the men at work beside the runway, idly rolling 
 181
 
 THE UNTAMED 
 
 cigarettes during a halt in the operations, 
 failed altogether to perceive him above the 
 heavy lower boarding. As a result, he saun- 
 tered into the open, and there was no noose 
 ready to snare. His ears were twitching with 
 curiosity, and he moved his legs as if they were 
 stiff and his feet hurt, as indeed they did, be- 
 cause he had come many weary miles and he 
 was not three days old. 
 
 "Hi-yi! There goes a calf!" yelled the 
 punchers. "Go to him, John. He's just your 
 size." 
 
 Big John grinned, spat on his hands, and 
 made a dive for the fugitive. "The liT rascal," 
 he chuckled, grabbing for its tail. Instead of 
 taking to the open and falling a prey to a 
 roper, the calf lunged sideways and went under 
 the horse-pasture fence. He was so short that 
 he easily bowed his back and slid beneath the 
 wire. The outfit sent up a shout of laughter, 
 and exhorted John to stay with him; but the 
 giant remained where he was, gazing fixedly at 
 182
 
 MOLLY 
 
 the fugitive. Molly was on the other side of 
 the fence. 
 
 To her side the white-face holted, confident 
 of sanctuary. For a cow, Molly was terribly 
 agitated. She turned about and about, trying 
 to obtain a really good look at this forward 
 baby who greeted her as his mother. The 
 calf, on his part, kept close in an endeavor to 
 secure his supper, being very hungry and prop- 
 erly careless as to where he got it. Molly 
 smelled and sniffed at him, and edged off in in- 
 tense nervousness. Evidently quite positive in 
 his own mind that he had found what he had 
 been seeking, the calf gave over all useless fuss 
 and set himself resolutely to obtain a meal. 
 
 "Let him go, John," the boss called. "We 
 lost his mother over on the Magayan. 
 Molly'll look after him. Look out! Bear 
 down on him, cowboys! It's that big ol* 
 bull." 
 
 Molly was thrilling to long-pent yearnings, 
 and the vapors of self-delusion welled up to 
 183
 
 THE UNTAMED 
 
 befog her instincts. After five minutes of nos- 
 ing, the Jersey came to the conclusion that this 
 must be her son, and yielded to his hungry im- 
 portunities. With a deep murmur of content, 
 she walked away, followed by her adopted 
 baby. And behind a sage-brush, safe from in- 
 terference, she fed him. The outfit watched 
 them go in amazement, prophesying many 
 things. 
 
 One of the few things they did not foretell 
 came to pass next morning. Molly had hidden 
 the calf behind some soapweed while she went 
 to graze a few rods off, and, the dawn being 
 still gray and the air stinging cold, we picked 
 that particular bunch of weed for a bonfire 
 to provide warmth while the wrangler was 
 bringing up the horses. When the match 
 flared, the calf on the other side of the shoot- 
 ing sparks staggered to his feet. 
 
 Ba-a-a-a-aw! 
 
 "It's the little *un," John whooped. 
 
 He said no more, because at that moment 
 184
 
 MOLLY 
 
 came the dull pounding of hoofs on grass, and 
 there was Molly, her head held high, turning 
 her gaze jerkily from one to another, after the 
 manner of cows when preparing to charge. 
 We forgot about the fire for the moment and 
 headed for the corral fence, streaming across 
 country twenty strong, with Molly in hot pur- 
 suit. Big John eluded her by dodging dexter- 
 ously behind a bush, leaving a portion of his 
 overalls with the cow, and she abandoned the 
 chase at once, returning to her charge. Him 
 she licked and caressed with many mumbled 
 endearments, making sure that he was unhurt. 
 The calf took all this stoically and as a matter 
 of course, considering it his due, and fell to 
 breakfast. Molly gazed across at her late 
 friends sitting spectrally astride the fence, and 
 all the anger was gone from her eyes. They 
 were large and melting with tenderness. 
 
 A crippled horse was shot that day, the 
 broncho-buster threw him too hard, breaking 
 a leg, and to the carcass a coyote skulked 
 185
 
 THE UNTAMED 
 
 when night shut down. About eleven o'clock 
 Molly got to her knees, in which position she 
 remained a few seconds, meditating; then rose 
 to walk about, nibbling at the grass. All cat- 
 tle get up in this manner between eleven o'clock 
 and midnight to graze for a few minutes and 
 then lie down on the other side. This may be 
 the basis of an old superstition that "good cows 
 say their prayers." 
 
 Molly, with the warmth of the snuggling 
 calf still on her side, wandered farther than she 
 intended. Abruptly she thrust her nose into 
 the wind and sniffed. It was a stale, pene- 
 trating stench, and inherited knowledge warned 
 her there was danger. Back ran Molly in a 
 tremor of anxiety, her head wagging from side 
 to side in her efforts to glimpse the marauder. 
 Behind a clump of bear-grass crouched a coy- 
 ote, his foxlike nose pointed toward the spot 
 where snoozed her unprotected son. Inch by 
 inch he slunk forward; now his muscles grew 
 taut for the leap. 
 
 186
 
 MOLLY 
 
 Whoo-oo-oo-huh! snorted Molly, smashing 
 down upon him. 
 
 The wolf straightened and wheeled with a 
 flash of gray, and sprang, all in one movement. 
 So marvelously quick was he that escape would 
 have been certain ninety-nine times in a hun- 
 dred. A bull would have borne down on him 
 with lowered head and eyes shut, like a run- 
 away freight train; a cow charges with eyes 
 open, and Molly, consumed with mother- wrath, 
 ripped sideways with her sharp horns as the 
 hunter swerved. A shapeless bundle of 
 brown-gray fur was tossed into the air, and 
 when it struck the ground and rebounded, 
 Molly went at it again. This time she caught 
 him full with her horns, and, quite by chance, 
 followed stumblingly on his ribs with her fore- 
 feet. The coyote squirmed away from this 
 terrible avenger, snapping f utilely at her muz- 
 zle, and a cry from the calf distracted the Jer- 
 sey from a burning desire to complete the good 
 work. When she abandoned him to run to 
 187
 
 THE UNTAMED 
 
 her adopted son, the wolf made as if to flee; 
 but he was hurt unto death, and sank down 
 miserably under a mesquite, his glinting eyes 
 searching the brush for foes. And through the 
 long night he panted out his life, until at dawn 
 the last spark flickered. 
 
 "It's a big ol' ki-yote" John stirred the 
 carcass with his boot "A bull done ripped 
 him." 
 
 "There aren't any bulls in the horse pas- 
 ture," the boss retorted. "Only Molly." 
 
 By one impulse the outfit turned in their 
 saddles to look for her. There stood the Jer- 
 sey a hundred paces off, feeding tranquilly on 
 mesquite pods. Toddling at her heels was a 
 red, white-faced calf of sturdy frame and curly 
 coat. Molly was behaving as if she had never 
 done anything more exciting in her life than 
 eat bran mash. 
 
 "Good ol' Molly," they called back, as they 
 rode to the bunk-house for dinner. Molly, 
 hearing the familiar name, lifted her head to 
 regard the cavalcade soberly. 
 188
 
 MOLLY 
 
 We went without milk cheerfully enough 
 now and speculated at every meal as to the 
 probable course Molly would pursue as the calf 
 grew. There was little else to talk about. 
 Some vowed she would get over her halluci- 
 nation quickly and abandon the youngster. 
 Uncle Henry thought differently. 
 
 "She's a better mother to him than his own 
 would have been. I never done saw a range 
 cow look after her calf like Molly does that 
 rascal. And ain't he fat!" he exclaimed. 
 
 The wagon boss conceived it to be in the line 
 of his duty to brand the calf. A man was de- 
 spatched to rope him. He returned presently 
 to say that Molly would not permit him to get 
 near. "She went on the peck and gored my 
 horse." He exhibited a red wale along his 
 mount's flank. 
 
 "You can't rope a calf away from its 
 mother?" the boss exclaimed, dumbfounded. 
 "Pshaw! You'd better go back to cotton- 
 pickin', Cas." 
 
 He spurred away to bring in the culprit him- 
 189
 
 THE UNTAMED 
 
 self. What were cowboys coming to nowa- 
 days ? He would show them ! We mounted the 
 corral fence the better to view proceedings, and 
 waxed merry of spirit when Molly chased the 
 boss six separate times. Molly would not be 
 frightened or enticed away from her son, but 
 turned to confront this unexpected enemy 
 when he galloped, at her. As for the calf, he 
 glued himself to Molly's side and would not 
 budge therefrom. 
 
 "Will we stretch her out, Pink?" we shouted. 
 
 "No," the boss roared. 
 
 He made another try and almost got his rope 
 over the calf; but the Jersey went at him 
 just then and gave him something else to do. 
 So the boss ambled back, grinning sheepishly 
 behind his sandy mustache. 
 
 "I reckon" he cleared his throat "I 
 reckon that's one on me, boys. Let him go 
 just now. We'll get him in the spring." 
 
 Uncle Henry was the only human being 
 that the Jersey would permit within five yards 
 - 190
 
 MOLLY 
 
 of her baby. He entertained a sort of proprie- 
 tary affection for the cow, and she reciprocated 
 save when such cordial relationship clashed with 
 her love for the adopted one. At such mo- 
 ments Uncle Henry was not to be considered, 
 of course, and she was as ready to put him on 
 the fence or speed him round a bush as any 
 other member of the Tumbling K outfit. 
 
 Upon a day in September, he was on his way 
 back from patching the line fence, when he 
 espied Molly trotting distractedly about a nar- 
 row draw. She stopped to stare as he ap- 
 proached, then resumed her agitated run. 
 From time to time she dashed to the brink of 
 an arroyo to gaze down. Uncle Henry 
 watched her, surmising from the stores of his 
 experience what had happened. 
 
 "She'll jist about go on the prod and rip me 
 if I try to git him out." 
 
 Molly took a few steps toward him, lowed 
 pitifully, and returned to look down at the un- 
 fortunate calf. He advanced with cautionj an- 
 191
 
 THE UNTAMED 
 
 ticipating a rush ; but Molly only lowed again 
 and made way for him. 
 
 "I swan, she wants me to pull him out," said 
 Uncle Henry in a reverent tone. "If that 
 don't beat every " 
 
 He alighted and walked to the arroyo's rim. 
 Ten feet below, on the sandy bottom of a hole 
 whose precipitous sides prevented him climb- 
 ing out, lay the white-face. Uncle Henry 
 deftly dropped a noose over its head, and 
 dragged the kicking youngster to safety. 
 When he went to remove the rope, Molly suf- 
 fered him to handle her son, though she glared 
 in swift suspicion when Uncle Henry threw 
 him to the ground and knelt on his body to free 
 the loop from his neck. 
 
 "Boys," said the boss at supper one night, 
 "Molly has got to go." 
 
 "Oh-ho! Ho, indeed!" Uncle Henry re- 
 torted with fine sarcasm. "Oh, yes," he added, 
 unable to think of anything better to say. 
 
 The boss shook his head sadly over the 
 192
 
 MOLLY 
 
 clamor that ensued. He spoke of the matter 
 as a man of feeling would acquaint a wife of 
 her husband's taking-off ; but it had to be. An 
 order had come to deliver Molly to Bockus, the 
 butcher at Blackwater. 
 
 What! Lose Molly? The boss was locoed, 
 or worse. Had he by any chance secured a 
 bottle, of whose whereabouts we were in igno- 
 rance? We would buy the cow ourselves first. 
 
 It was an off-day. The branding was done, 
 and the Tumbling K outfit was awaiting the 
 arrival of a purchase of four thousand steers 
 from the South. Thus it came about that 
 twelve of us rode into Blackwater, and Big 
 John was spokesman. John was not much of 
 a speaker, being given to profanity when a con- 
 gestion of language threatened, but he had a 
 grand theme, and talked about Molly in a way 
 that made us cough. 
 
 "Bless my heart," cried the owner of the 
 Tumbling K, when the nub of the matter was 
 revealed, "Bless my heart I" 
 193
 
 THE UNTAMED 
 
 He gaped, then squeezed the mighty muscles 
 of Big John's shoulder and laughed. All this 
 fuss about a cow one forlorn dun cow. The 
 puncher grinned in his turn, shuffling his feet ; 
 for they knew and understood each other, these 
 two, having been associated for eighteen years. 
 That is why Bockus received the strange ex- 
 planation he did when he called to protest 
 against the delay in delivering Molly. 
 
 "It's just this way," the cattleman observed, 
 slipping an elastic band about his tally-book. 
 "If I let you have that cow for thirty, I lose 
 precisely nine hundred and thirty-seven dollars. 
 No ; Molly stays." 
 
 "Nine hundred and Why, man, you're 
 crazy! How's that?" 
 
 "Ask those strikers of mine," came the an- 
 swer, accompanied by a chuckle. "Great 
 weather, isn't it? How is veal selling to-day?" 
 
 "But look a-here, Vance, let me have the 
 calf, anyway. You owe me that much," the 
 fat Bockus protested. 
 
 194
 
 MOLLY 
 
 "All right. Send out for him, thougK," said 
 the cattleman. 
 
 It happened that Bockus despatched a youth 
 with a pair of mules hitched to a wagon, for the 
 calf. He was a wily urchin, and a glance sat- 
 isfied him that Molly's son could be taken from 
 her only by craft. Accordingly he loafed all 
 of one forenoon in the horse pasture with his 
 wagon close at hand, and when the unsuspect- 
 ing Jersey strayed off some hundreds of yards 
 to secure better grazing, he made a sudden de- 
 scent upon the white-face, locked his fingers 
 about its nose so that the calf could not utter 
 a sound, threw and tied him, then heaved the 
 outraged victim into the wagon and made off. 
 Molly returned shortly, and missing the apple 
 of her eye, set out on a search of the immediate 
 vicinity. In the distance a wagon raised the 
 dust of the Blackwater trail, going rapidly. 
 The boy did not feel any too secure even with a 
 fence between them, and lashed his mules, 
 shrilling oaths at the gawky beasts. 
 195
 
 THE UNTAMED 
 
 The cow brought up at the fence, every sense 
 on the alert to detect the presence of the calf 
 in the fast-disappearing vehicle. Some subtle 
 intuition told Molly he was there, and she re- 
 treated a few steps. Then, with a crash, she 
 went through the four strands of wire, and, 
 with a long gash in her left shoulder dripping 
 blood, started after them at a swinging trot. 
 
 Brother Ducey was conducting an open-air 
 revival service among the mining population of 
 Blackwater. He was a powerful exhorter, 
 was the brother, and, as most of his congrega- 
 tion were women, with a sprinkling of men who 
 would presently go on the night shift six hun- 
 dred feet into the bowels of the earth, his pic- 
 ture of a lurid, living perdition had them sway- 
 ing and rocking on the benches. Their groans 
 and lamentations rolled up the street. 
 
 "You're all a-going to hell!" he shouted. 
 "Your feet are on the hot bricks now. Hell 
 is" And, again "Hell" 
 
 Brother Ducey broke off and glared wrath- 
 196
 
 MOLLY 
 
 fully at an imp of a boy who drove a clanking 
 wagon at top speed completely around the 
 meeting-place, making for the slaughter-house 
 beyond. 
 
 Then Molly arrived and took no such devious 
 route. She went straight through the congre- 
 gation, overturning the mourners' bench, and, 
 unable to differentiate between friends and 
 foes, headed for the rostrum. Brother Ducey 
 waved his arms wildly and squalled "Shoo!" 
 But, as Molly would not "shoo," he scaled a 
 tree with the speed of a lizard, from which 
 vantage-point he besought somebody to shoot 
 the animal. 
 
 The Jersey did not pause to trifle with these 
 hysterical worshipers. Her business was to 
 find her baby, and she was almost up with him. 
 In truth, the cow was an awesome sight as she 
 charged anew after the wagon, the blood trail- 
 ing from her shoulder, froth flaking her muz- 
 zle. Evidently the butcher's assistant found 
 her so. 
 
 197
 
 THE UNTAMED 
 
 "I can't beat her to the gate!" he gasped, 
 with a glance backward. 
 
 Whereupon he wheeled again and galloped 
 his team in front of Bockus' store. There he 
 abandoned them, springing through the door 
 just as Molly swept down the road. The calf 
 bawled a greeting and the Jersey began to 
 circle the wagon, occasionally prodding at the 
 mules just to be on the safe side in the event 
 of their having had anything to do with this 
 theft. They kicked at her in return, but did 
 not offer to run away. 
 
 "Somebody rope her ! Somebody rope her !" 
 Bockus cried, dancing up and down in his shop. 
 "No, don't shoot. Them locoed Tumbling 
 K's will wipe out the town if you do." 
 
 Alas, there was nobody in Blackwater com- 
 petent to do it. They were a peaceful, indus- 
 trious mining folk, and a cow was a dubious 
 thing to them, to be handled respectfully in 
 the best of moods. And an enraged animal 
 like Molly! Blackwater suspended business, 
 198
 
 MOLLY 
 
 shut up shop, and hid indoors or took refuge 
 on the roof. 
 
 From time to time Molly abandoned the 
 wagon temporarily to seek revenge where it 
 might be given to her. In this way she made 
 forays over half the town, and put Bill Terry, 
 the postmaster, through a new plate-glass win- 
 dow that Tom Zeigler had imported at enor- 
 mous expense. Tom swore that Vance would 
 have to pay for it. 
 
 "Send for one of them fool cowboys!" 
 Bockus screamed, after an hour of this. 
 
 His boy stole forth on an emaciated pony, 
 and, eluding the cow by a burst of speed, 
 brought Blackwater's prayerful appeal to the 
 Tumbling K headquarters. 
 
 We rode in and roped Molly. Then cer- 
 tain of us did some trafficking with Bockus, 
 Big John laying down the terms, with the re- 
 sult that the cord around the calf's legs was 
 loosed and he was restored to his mother. 
 
 All the blind savagery was departed from 
 199
 
 THE UNTAMED 
 
 Molly now. She sauntered over to a patch of 
 grass and began to eat, with the calf at her 
 heels, and the stare she turned on the citizens 
 of Blackwater was noncommittal, even kindly. 
 
 Her departure took on something of the 
 character of a pageant. Brother Ducey was 
 induced to make an oration or he could not he 
 restrained at any rate, Brother Ducey de- 
 livered a speech setting forth the extraordinary 
 qualities of the cow. It was really a remark- 
 able tribute, but all the notice Molly took was 
 to flick one ear as she masticated a bunch of 
 grass. 
 
 "And, brethern and sisters, what does this 
 brave creature teach us ? Hey ?" he demanded, 
 in conclusion. 
 
 "I dunno," mumbled a gentleman at whom 
 he was staring, in a hopeless tone. 
 
 "I ask you-all ag'in, what she done taught us 
 
 when she come a-seeking of her young in the 
 
 very heart of our meetin' ? Why, it's plain as 
 
 the mole on Lon Rainey's face," cried Brother 
 
 200
 
 MOLLY 
 
 Ducey. "I forgive her a-chasing of me up 
 that cottonwood, it's a right good thing it was 
 so handy, and Miz Ducey kin sew the pants. 
 But what did this noble animal show? Jist 
 what I was praying of you-all to reveal, breth- 
 ern and sisters. She showed love and devo- 
 tion, and a generous sacrifice for somebody else 
 besides her own self. That's what she done 
 showed. You-all do likewise. Brother Perry 
 will now pass the hat." 
 
 We took Molly back to the Tumbling K and 
 turned her into the horse pasture. She came 
 peaceably enough, six of us acting as escort of 
 honor. She is there now, followed everywhere 
 she goes by a husky red calf with a white face. 
 Molly is firmly persuaded that he is her son and 
 the pride of the range. 
 
 201
 
 VII 
 THE BABY AND THE PUMA 
 
 THE wagon jolted and whined over 
 rough ground, winding among giant 
 pines. Off to the right followed a 
 tawny shape, flitting from blotch of shadow 
 to screening bush, blending with the blurred 
 outlines of tree and rock. The moon was hid- 
 den and Brother Schoonover drove with cir- 
 cumspection, lest his ark and all his possessions 
 be wrecked in the wilderness. 
 
 "Doggone that moon. It ain't never work- 
 ing when you need it right bad," cried Brother 
 Schoonover, cracking his whip. "That limb 
 was like to blind me. Stead-ay, Glossy. 
 Now, girl now." 
 
 The puma crouched flat on hearing the 
 voice. Then the wagon drew out of sight be- 
 yond a tope of trees and he sprang to the 
 202
 
 BABY AND THE PUMA 
 
 shelter of a mesquite. There he peered again 
 at the nester's outfit going down the valley 
 through the dark. It labored heavily ; Brother 
 Schoonover's tones reached him, raised in sharp 
 rebuke of the mare; and presently he slunk in 
 pursuit. 
 
 Don't imagine that Bowallopus such was 
 he dubbed from that night of adventure was 
 stalking prey. Nothing was farther removed 
 from his purpose. He was dreadfully afraid, 
 but curiosity overrode fear! Time and again 
 he halted to abandon the game and go about 
 the serious things of life, but could not. The 
 wagon and its inmates had him fast. 
 
 Bowallopus was not even hungry, but he 
 trailed along in rear. Perhaps there lurked 
 a sneaking hope far back in that hard skull of 
 his that something might transpire toward the 
 further easement of his stomach, but it never 
 for a moment dulled his caution. 
 
 The nester whistled at the mare and urged 
 her forward, and twice the harsh scream of the 
 203
 
 THE UNTAMED 
 
 brakes stayed Bowallopus rigid in his tracks. 
 It should not be held against Brother Schoon- 
 over that he forgot on three occasions the Bib- 
 lical limitations as regards profane words, be- 
 cause the night was deceptive and he was far 
 from water. All he had on earth was with 
 him there in the wagon, and he could descry no 
 suitable place to camp. The family spring- 
 bed was slung from ropes off the floor under 
 the arched canvas top, and on it his wife slept. 
 Curled warmly in the hollow of her arm was 
 the baby. Sometimes the lurchings of their 
 home rolled him quite away from her side, to 
 return him on the rebound. He slept placidly, 
 being a seasoned traveler. 
 
 Just before descending a gulch to cross a 
 dried creek-bed, Brother Schoonover drove slap 
 against a large rock, being now far off any 
 trails. The wagon careened to the point of 
 overturning and the baby slid from his mother's 
 arms. Mrs. Schoonover had raised the can- 
 vas for purposes of ventilation she suffered 
 204
 
 BABY AND THE PUMA 
 
 from an affection of the lungs and he shot 
 downward through the hole. Being utterly 
 helpless, he was unhurt. He hit the ground 
 lightly and the wheel missed him a full half- 
 inch. 
 
 Of course the shock woke the baby, but he 
 was so astonished for a minute that he could 
 only hold his breath ready for what might be- 
 fall. When he did let out a yell, the wagon 
 was thumping over the stones, with the driver 
 standing up to beat the mare, and the couple in 
 it could not have heard a steam calliope ten 
 yards off. 
 
 Bowallopus vanished when the brown bundle 
 dropped. A hundred paces and he halted in a 
 thicket, arrested by a gurgling treble cry. 
 The puma had seen children before, playing 
 near the shack of a Mexican woodchopper, and 
 he knew that note of distress. Very cautiously 
 he crept back and began to circle. 
 
 The felidae steal upon their prey noiselessly, treading on 
 the soft elastic pads of the soles of the feet, without risk of 
 
 205
 
 THE UNTAMED 
 
 betrayal from the rustle caused by non-retractile claws. 
 When within a short distance, they crouch and spring, bound- 
 ing many times their length upon their unsuspecting victims, 
 which, borne down by the descending weight of the fierce foe, 
 are at once fastened upon by the deadly grip of the well- 
 armed jaw and by the united action of eighteen fully-extended 
 piercing claws. 
 
 So says an old school book or it may be an 
 ancient natural history and it is very illumi- 
 nating and authoritative. But it happens that 
 Bowallopus belonged to a class of felidae 
 which does not prey upon man or the children 
 of men, and he did none of these things. He 
 waited until the groaning of the wagon died 
 away, his head up, keen for sound or sight of 
 danger. A puma relies more on his ears and 
 eyes than on his nose to apprise him of enemy 
 or victim. Then he went forward stealthily, 
 moving in a wide semicircle. 
 
 The baby threshed about with his chubby 
 
 arms and howled, whereat Bowallopus shrank 
 
 back, hissing like an enraged gander, his tail 
 
 lashing from side to side. Perhaps the threat- 
 
 206
 
 BABY AND THE PUMA! 
 
 ening noise chilled the boy to silence; at any; 
 rate he broke off in his wail and lay quiet. 
 The lion went nearer. He stood above the 
 brown bundle, his muscles ready for combat or 
 instant flight, and eyed it suspiciously. Much 
 as a house cat would pick up a questionable bit 
 of loot from the floor, Bowallopus seized the 
 dress in his teeth and lifted the baby. Schoon- 
 over, Jr., waved a pudgy hand in lively terror 
 and slapped the beast on the nose. Hor- 
 ribly surprised, Bowallopus dropped him and 
 sprang back. Then he gathered himself to 
 leap. 
 
 "Hi!" yelled Brother Schoonover. 
 
 The lion snarled as he turned to flee, but 
 the nester had stopped in his run and was down 
 on one knee. Bowallopus cleared the distance 
 between him and some brush with a magnifi- 
 cent, sinuous jump, but as he went, a crashing 
 sound smote his ears and sharp burning pains 
 ripped along loins and back. Brother Schoon- 
 over had loaded his old smooth-bore with bird- 
 207
 
 THE UNTAMED 
 
 shot that day to the end that he might pot a 
 dog-rabbit or a brace of wild doves for supper, 
 and Bowallopus received the entire charge. 
 
 Without paying the slightest heed to the 
 fleeing puma, the nester threw down his 
 weapon and clasped his son. Instantly the 
 baby shrieked his loudest, and "God, he ain't 
 hurt a bit," cried Brother Schoonover in a great 
 voice. He was shaking like a cottonwood 
 leaf and his fright impelled the child to further 
 outcry, so contagious is fear. And now Mrs. 
 Schoonover came running, unable to remain 
 longer in the wagon with bone of her bone and 
 flesh of her flesh lying helpless somewhere in 
 the dark along the trail she could see him 
 dead. She prayed audibly as she ran. 
 
 "Give him to me," she said, snatching the 
 baby from his sire as though he had been much 
 to blame. 
 
 "It weren't my fault, Sally Jo," he pro- 
 tested. 
 
 "You drive most awful reckless, Brother 
 208
 
 BABY AND THE PUMA 
 
 Schoonover," returned his wife, and hugged 
 her son closer. 
 
 "He ain't hurt a mite. Just scared," she an- 
 nounced, after a wondrous inspection by touch 
 of hand. "Something done tore his dress." 
 
 "A big ol' line had him, Sally Jo," the nester 
 exclaimed. "I swan he was a monster. He 
 went a-smashing up among the bushes and 
 rocks." 
 
 "You didn't kill him? You done let him go 
 and he most had eat our child?" shrilled Mrs. 
 Schoonover. 
 
 "I reckon I done missed, Sally Jo. There, 
 there, girl it's all right now. You cain't hurt 
 a line with birdshot. It won't even tickle him. 
 This here shot would bounce off'n a kitten's 
 hide, this here would." 
 
 They went back to the wagon, Mrs. Schoon- 
 over carrying the baby. The nester opined 
 that he had had enough of driving for one 
 night and they would camp here. 
 
 "It's hard on Glossy, but I'll go find her 
 209
 
 THE UNTAMED 
 
 water first thing in the morning" he poked 
 a finger playfully among his son's ribs "So 
 that ol' line was like to git you, boy? Ol' Bo- 
 wallopus was a-looking you over for a meal?" 
 
 Brother Schoonover hobbled the mare and 
 they went to rest. 
 
 Bowallopus lay on a flat rock amid the lower 
 ridges next day, sunning himself. He was not 
 far from home and felt perfectly secure. In 
 a gulch, washed out by floods numberless gen- 
 erations ago, was a large hole that led into a 
 shallow cave. There was in front a sandstone 
 ledge much to the beast's liking, and here the 
 puma resided, as a stinging odor proclaimed. 
 
 He was very handsome, was Bowallopus. 
 On his side, he measured eight feet ten inches 
 from the tip of his nose to tip of tail, and his 
 weight could not have been less than two hun- 
 dred and forty pounds. Just now the superb 
 richness of his reddish brown coat was marred 
 by unsightly clots in the region of his rump, and 
 he was constantly reminded thereof by a gnaw- 
 210
 
 BABY AND THE PUMA 
 
 ing and itching of innumerable tiny spots. 
 The irritation meant that the wounds were 
 healing, but Bowallopus's temper was very bad 
 nevertheless. He licked his sores tenderly and 
 settled himself to bask in the glare, lids droop- 
 ing- 
 
 Five miles away, Brother Schoonover was 
 digging with might and main into the side of 
 a low hill, for he had found a spring bubbling 
 from the rock and was now engaged in fash- 
 ioning a dugout for a home. 
 
 Bowallopus went up the valley early that 
 evening, being minded to kill. And before 
 darkness closed down he arrived at a butte 
 about three miles from his lair. 
 
 The huge cat crawled warily to a ledge and 
 composed himself to wait. At the other side 
 of the butte vague figures were moving, and 
 Bowallopus could hear plainly the crisp munch- 
 ing of grass. These were the range mares 
 wearing the Anvil brand, and he had taken toll 
 of their young many times before. In the 
 211
 
 THE UNTAMED 
 
 position he had selected they could not wind 
 him ; and along the base of the hutte ran a trail 
 down which the mares went to drink. 
 
 The sun sank hack of the mountains. A big 
 roan stallion which ruled the band gave over 
 eating and lay down to roll. Invigorated by 
 this exercise, he whinnied joyously and started 
 for the pool. One mare, with her colt, fol- 
 lowed at his heels. The others began to 
 close in, slowly, then in groups, until they 
 were moving in loose array towards water. 
 The leader picked the butte trail, paused to 
 pull a tempting tuft, and rounded a bend. 
 Then he snorted an alarm and swerved out- 
 ward. 
 
 Bowallopus let him go he was too formid- 
 able for attack but the mare and her colt were 
 below him. On the stallion's warning he 
 hurled himself downward, a yellow streak in 
 the gloom, and bore the luckless colt to the 
 ground. The crunch of its broken spine was 
 drowned in the rumble of flying hoofs. Bo- 
 212
 
 BABY AND THE PUMA 
 
 wallopus gripped his prey by the neck and 
 started homewards. Twice he was compelled 
 to stop to obtain a fresh hold, but he dragged 
 the carcass to the washout. 
 
 It happened that he made a foray early one 
 evening to Wolf Creek in quest of a deer. 
 
 Sometimes, if he were exceedingly crafty, 
 and wind and bough of tree were right, he 
 could slay when a deer stole timidly to drink. 
 Bowallopus went down the valley, alert and 
 noiseless as was his wont. Suddenly he stif- 
 fened, the hairs on neck and back pringling. 
 
 Here was a fence. There could be no doubt 
 of that. It was a very crude contrivance of 
 one strand of wire, but he could see the posts 
 standing in a ghostly, wavering line. Bo- 
 wallopus walked along it, tensely expectant. 
 In the distance a tiny light shone like a fallen 
 star, and Bowallopus paused often to stare. 
 This was the lantern in Brother Schoonover's 
 house. He had fenced a quarter-section, or 
 had enclosed it sufficiently to conform with 
 213
 
 THE UNTAMED 
 
 the law, and now occupied a one-roomed dug- 
 out constructed of logs and earth. The 
 Brother was fully determined to prove up on 
 this claim, and already indulged in dreams of 
 how the place would look when green under 
 Kaffir corn, and a red-roofed house on the hill 
 back of them. He had longed all his life for 
 a house with a red roof, for it could be descried 
 so far and looked so cheery. 
 
 The puma made the circuit of the place and 
 watched and listened. Presently the light 
 went out and all was still. He did not tarry 
 long, being seized of a feeling of unrest. All 
 heart for the hunt was gone from him and he 
 struck northward, intent on putting distance 
 between himself and this newest invader of his 
 domain. While the dark was yet young, he 
 scaled a pine tree a tree bole was to the lion as 
 greensward to the antelope and sat comfort- 
 ably on a thick limb. Once he tilted his nose 
 and sent his screech vibrating to the topmost 
 hills. It was a rending cry like the scream of a
 
 BABY AND THE PUMA 
 
 woman in mortal pain no animal but a horse 
 in its death agony can produce a sound more 
 terrifying. After a while he descended and 
 went northward once more; but there was no 
 yowling from Bowallopus now. He had to 
 find something to eat, and stealth alone could 
 accomplish that end. 
 
 Yet he was back at the fence next night and 
 on many nights succeeding. The dugout and 
 its dwellers recurred again and again to tempt 
 his curiosity, however far he raided. Bowal- 
 lopus had no desire to forage there, but he 
 simply could not keep away. And gradually 
 the feeling of anxiety over their presence be- 
 came a fixed dread, an obsession. 
 
 Brother Schoonover acquired a dog from a 
 passing Mexican freighter and owned the mon- 
 grel for exactly seven days and six nights. 
 Most of that period was spent by the canine 
 back of the shack, tied to a post. Then he 
 was released and ventured too far in the dusk, 
 and Bowallopus gathered him in. When the 
 215
 
 THE UNTAMED 
 
 nester found the remains he forgot all about 
 the spirit of kindly charity for which he had 
 been so strong in a two days' debate with 
 Brother Ducey in Texas, and railed against all 
 created things save those man had domes- 
 ticated. 
 
 After this episode Bowallopus absented him- 
 self from the vicinity of the Schoonover home 
 for a space. He went up into the mountains, 
 where he contrived to get considerable veal and 
 young beef. Winter was coming upon the 
 land and a calf did not hug his mother's side 
 so closely of a night, being grown and pride- 
 ful. 
 
 In the sheen of a late November gloaming, 
 .he dropped from a jutting rock on the rim of 
 The Hatter and padded along a burro trail. 
 This was the way down the big mountain which 
 the woodchoppers took ; thence they drove their 
 patient beasts of burden seventy long miles 
 to town. Bowallopus slunk beside the well- 
 worn path, one eye cocked for trouble. He 
 216
 
 BABY AND THE PUMA 
 
 was ferociously hungry; his stomach clamored 
 for food; and at sight of a scurrying jackrab- 
 bit, a peculiar pulsating ache started back of 
 his jowl. 
 
 Abruptly he drew back and flopped down- 
 ward behind a thorny bush. Below, on the 
 shoulder of The Hatter, clung a shack of 
 boughs and sod. A man was even then ham- 
 mering on its roof, while a woman passed him 
 up bits of old tin. Half way between the 
 puma and the hut, a small boy was toiling 
 under a pile of fagots, tied over his back. 
 
 All this Bowallopus saw, but what interested 
 him most was an object nearer at hand. Not 
 twenty feet away a Mexican baby played in 
 the dirt, crowing with delight over possession 
 of a captive lizard. The child was perhaps 
 two years old and much too naked for that time 
 of year, but she was hearty and cared naught 
 for that. Her brother had brought her up 
 the trail, leaving her to amuse herself as best 
 she might whilst he gathered firewood. Nat- 
 217
 
 THE UNTAMED 
 
 urally he forgot all about the toddler, the job 
 not being to his liking. 
 
 Bowallopus listened and watched and 
 waited. The baby rolled in the dust. The 
 man and woman were busily engaged and the 
 boy had been sent to fetch a bucket of water. 
 A bull-bat flew over the puma's head. A hush 
 crept over The Hatter. 
 
 It may be that he shut his eyes when he 
 launched himself and struck, though she was 
 so very, very little. There was no cry to be- 
 tray only the throaty snarls of the puma, 
 now turned mankiller and more horribly afraid 
 and fearfully daring than he had ever been in 
 his life. 
 
 "A big oP mountain line done eat a Mexican 
 baby up yonder," Brother Schoonover reported 
 to his wife. 
 
 "You keep buckshot in that gun, Brother 
 
 Schoonover; do you hear? Oh, my liT lamb! 
 
 What if that wicked lion had eat you up?" 
 
 Her son did not appear at all disturbed by the 
 
 218
 
 BABY AND THE PUMA 
 
 speculation, but thumped on her breast with 
 his fists. 
 
 There was a tremendous to-do up and down 
 the country for eighty leagues. The manager 
 of the Anvil offered a hundred dollars reward 
 for the murderer's hide and the cowboys of the 
 region blazed away at every bobcat that 
 showed a hair within their line of vision. 
 Even Richter's sheep herders bestirred them- 
 selves to set traps, but all to no avail. And 
 the victim being a native child, the killing soon 
 ceased to be a live topic. 
 
 The winter arrived in the wake of a norther. 
 It blustered for a fortnight, then set in to be 
 bitterly cold. Bowallopus fared well, and grew 
 ever more malignant and furtive. One rib 
 was cracked owing to mis judgment of dis- 
 tance, but accidents are likely to occur to the 
 best of hunters. In diving from a tree for 
 the back of a colt, he missed and came down 
 close to the mare. In a flash he gathered him- 
 self and leaped again, but the mother's heels 
 219
 
 THE UNTAMED 
 
 crashed full on his side and she went away at 
 full speed, her son running a good second. 
 On another occasion a young bull caught him 
 with a headlong rush, unprepared on his kill, 
 and would have made short work with so ex- 
 cellent a start, had not Bowallopus sought 
 safety in the fleetness of his legs. He was a 
 sapient animal and knew when he had enough. 
 
 Spring came at last, and Bowallopus had a 
 fight. It was a family affair his wife was 
 not wholly blameless and it is better for all 
 concerned to say only that he came off the vic- 
 tor. A young puma had wandered into his 
 ridges from the south and west, and he never 
 went back. When a mountain lion does fight, 
 it is worth going many miles to see. 
 
 Some years it will rain so hard in this part 
 of the cow country that the nesters can but sit 
 and watch their puny efforts at raising corn 
 seep away; but the cattle rejoice exceedingly. 
 It must be admitted, however, that this hap- 
 pens extremely seldom. Generally the land 
 220
 
 BABY AND THE PUMA 
 
 bakes under cloudless skies from February to 
 June and the earth opens in cracks, as though 
 gasping for breath. 
 
 Brother Schoonover broke his ground and 
 planned to raise a bumper crop of corn, the 
 signs being propitious. He made two trips to 
 town, three days each way by wagon, in order 
 to make all ready. Bowallopus used often to 
 see him toiling long after sunset; the puma 
 spent many hours of the dark in sinister vigil 
 beyond the fence, where he could see the light 
 burning steadily in the dugout. Again he 
 would prowl completely around the claim, 
 keeping always off the wire, for that solitary 
 strand was associated with man. Once he 
 topped the hill back of the home in late after- 
 noon, though it was seldom he went abroad in 
 daylight, and hid behind a boulder. The 
 Schoonover baby was crawling near the door, 
 on hands and knees. Bowallopus never once 
 removed his gaze from him in a full hour. 
 
 His own domestic affairs had progressed of 
 221
 
 THE UNTAMED 
 
 late. Three sons had been born to his wife, 
 who hid them on a day when she detected a 
 certain glint in her lord's eyes. Bowallopus 
 discovered their hiding-place and slew the cubs 
 and ate them. 
 
 Rain should have fallen in June, but it did 
 not. July passed, and the country quivered 
 under a white ball that was the sun. The cat- 
 tle gave up the hopeless fight. In the valley 
 the air reeked of carcasses. Brother Schoon- 
 over finished a weary day in his waste fields in 
 August, and said to his wife : 
 
 "Well, Sally Jo, I reckon we'll be moving 
 agin." 
 
 "No, no ; don't say so. Have we really got 
 to go, Jed? We're always moving. This is 
 a right cruel country, ain't it, Jed? Nowhere 
 for a person to get along nice and quiet." 
 
 He made no reply, but picked his son from 
 the floor and set him on his knee. Then he 
 stared out over his bare acres and began to 
 laugh. 
 
 222
 
 BABY AND THE PUMA 
 
 "Don't," she entreated. "That's awful. It 
 ain't so bad as that, Jed." 
 
 "We've done nothing but move for six years, 
 Sally Jo. Or I reckon it's nearer eight, count- 
 ing them over in the Nations? And I made 
 certain this place would do and we'd have a 
 home." 
 
 "Jed," she said, putting a hand awkwardly 
 on his shoulder. "Can't we stay? Ain't there 
 no way? Perhaps you could get a job some- 
 where with the Anvil boys. Oh, anything, 
 so's we don't have to move again. It'll be so 
 soon now. I'll never live through it, I know." 
 
 He eyed her anxiously, dandling the baby; 
 the while. 
 
 "That's one of the reasons," he said. "You 
 ought to be near where a doctor can be got 
 handy, Sally Jo. No, we'll have to give this 
 up. I'll take you back to my folks for the 
 winter. We ought for to be there anyway. 
 The ol' man, he's getting feeble, and first thing 
 we know, he'll be leaving that farm to Sam in- 
 223
 
 THE UNTAMED 
 
 stead of me, Sally Jo. Cheer up, girl; we'll 
 find another place." 
 
 "All right," she returned hopelessly. 
 
 Two nights later they made camp among 
 giant pines in the valley. The mare grazed 
 near, hobbled to prevent her straying. 
 Brother Schoonover lighted the fire and his 
 wife cooked supper of bacon and bread and 
 coffee. That must suffice until they reached 
 town and afterwards, more of the same diet, 
 for the family treasury was down to eleven 
 dollars. 
 
 They washed the pots and tin plates, and 
 put the baby to bed in the wagon. Then the 
 couple knelt down and Brother Schoonover of- 
 fered up a prayer. He always prayed to his 
 Maker in a loud voice before retiring, invoking 
 benedictions on the entire world and all the 
 dwellers thereon. Only two exceptions did he 
 ever make and he made those religiously 
 nothing could induce him to intercede for 
 reigning monarchs, and he made special men- 
 224
 
 BABY AND THE PUMA 
 
 tion of the Republican party only that they 
 might be excluded from the general benefits to 
 accrue. 
 
 When they were rising to their feet, Sally 
 Jo clutched her husband's arm. 
 
 "What's that, Jed? There back of them 
 mesquite." 
 
 "I cain't see nothing. Where?" 
 
 "Don't you see? Look along my finger. 
 There, it's moving again. It looks like a dog, 
 Jed." 
 
 Her husband saw now and sucked in his 
 breath. Off to the right a tawny shape flitted 
 from blotch of shadow to screening bush, 
 blending with the blurred outline of tree and 
 rock. 
 
 "Hush," he cautioned, tiptoeing to the 
 wagon. 
 
 The reliable smooth-bore lay on the seat. 
 Brother Schoonover slipped the shell out with- 
 out a sound and put in another loaded with 
 buckshot. That done, he lay down under the 
 225
 
 THE UNTAMED 
 
 wagon and pretended to be asleep, but the gun 
 protruded through the spokes of a wheel and 
 the Brother occasionally sighted along the bar- 
 rel. It was dark, but there was a pale glow 
 from the stars, which would suffice for the work 
 in hand. 
 
 "When he gits in line with that pine tree," 
 he murmured. 
 
 A mountain lion was circling the camp. He 
 had stumbled upon the nester's outfit by chance 
 and had no business there, but curiosity beat 
 down doubts and caution. He had glimpsed 
 the baby near the fire and had cringed to earth 
 momentarily. Now, he was the more eager. 
 The sight of the couple on their knees and the 
 man's harsh tones drove him back a few yards, 
 and he had inadvertently moved from shadow 
 while one might count three; but now all was 
 quiet. He lay in the gloom surveying the 
 camp. The mare cropped the grass noisily 
 on the far side and the puma determined to 
 take a closer look over there. 
 226
 
 BABY AND THE PUMA 
 
 He emerged so eerily from nowhere that 
 Brother Schoonover almost doubted his senses 
 when he saw a head and neck between the 
 sights in line with the tree. There was a flash 
 and a terrific roar. Brother Schoonover was 
 knocked backward by the kick of the gun, and 
 his wife cried out. The baby awoke and 
 squalled in affright. 
 
 The puma made a convulsive leap high into 
 the air, hitting out blindly with his mighty 
 paws. He came down with claws tearing into 
 the earth, and whirled about and crouched to 
 meet the unseen enemy. Mrs. Schoonover 
 cowered in the wagon, covering the baby's head 
 with her apron that he might not hear the up- 
 roar. 
 
 "I got you, hey?" Brother Schoonover 
 shouted, furiously elated. "Well, here's an- 
 other of the same kind." 
 
 He held the gun firmly against his shoulder 
 and sent a charge straight between the eyes 
 glaring at him like two living coals. The puma 
 227
 
 THE UNTAMED 
 
 lurched forward and stretched out. He 
 coughed once, his muscles jerking; then stiff- 
 ened. 
 
 In the morning, a mountain lion lay on the 
 edge of camp, his hide riddled with shot. Still, 
 he was very handsome. He measured eight 
 feet ten inches from the tip of his nose to tip 
 of tail, and his weight could not have been less 
 than two hundred and forty pounds. 
 
 While his mother prepared breakfast and 
 his father watered and harnessed the mare, the 
 Schoonover baby inspected the creature. He 
 pulled its ears and kicked it with fine deliber- 
 ation on the point of the nose. 
 
 "Do you aim to leave it here, Brother 
 Schoonover?" his wife asked, when they were 
 ready to set forward. 
 
 "Shore. The hide ain't no good at this sea- 
 son. And he's shot all to bits. Do you know, 
 Sally Jo, I got a idea this is the same oF 
 mountain line what found our son? It's like 
 he's the same one that eat the pore liT Mexi- 
 228
 
 BABY AND THE PUMA 
 
 can, too, don't you reckon? OF Bowallopus?" 
 
 "It wouldn't surprise me none," she 
 answered, and shuddered. Her husband 
 spurned the carcass with his boot. 
 
 They got under way. High up in the sky 
 appeared two black specks. Brother Schoon- 
 over pointed to them. 
 
 "They'll rip him to pieces in no time. But 
 we'll keep the claws and whiskers and the end 
 of his tail for the baby to play with. Hey, 
 Sally Jo?" 
 
 The specks grew larger. Soon they showed 
 as birds, hovering on effortless wings above 
 the camping ground. Brother Schoonover 
 whacked the mare in high glee, and they set 
 out again on their pilgrimage. 
 
 Before they had gone half a mile, the buz- 
 zards shot from the blue vault to earth. 
 
 229
 
 VIII 
 THE MANKILLER 
 
 AAj this happened in the Bad Year, 
 which was not so many months ago. 
 The outfit issued daily from their 
 camps riding bog, skinning cattle and driv- 
 ing in the helpless to the home pastures to be 
 fed on oil-cake and alfalfa. The cows were 
 walking skeletons, wild of eye, ready to wheel 
 in impotent anger on their rescuers; or sink- 
 ing weakly to the ground at the least urging, 
 never to rise again. Every creek was dry. 
 Springs that were held eternal became slimy 
 mudholes and a trap. A well-grown man 
 could easily step across the San Pedro, oozing 
 sluggishly past mauled carcasses. 
 
 Wherever one rode he found bones of hap- 
 less creatures, or starved cows stretched flat on 
 230
 
 THE MANKILLEK 
 
 their sides, waiting for death to end their suf- 
 ferings. And the flies settled in sickening, 
 heaving clusters. Each mire held its victim. 
 Wobbly-legged calves wandered over the 
 range, crying for mothers that could never 
 come. And the sun blazed down out of a pale 
 sky. 
 
 Even the saving mesquite in the draws and 
 on the ridges was failing as sustenance; of 
 grass there was none. The country lay bleak 
 and gasping from Tombstone to the border. 
 Not even a desert cow, accustomed to slake her 
 water hunger by chewing cactus, could have 
 long survived such blighting months. How 
 we prayed for rain ! 
 
 Manuel Salazar gave heed to the comet 
 where he lay on his tarp, and crossed himself to 
 avert the death-curse which was come upon the 
 land. This weird luminary portended dire 
 events and Manuel began, like a prudent man, 
 to take thought of his religion. There might 
 be nothing in religion, as Chico contended ; but 
 231
 
 THE UNTAMED 
 
 a man never knows, and it is the part of wis- 
 dom to be on the safe side. 
 
 Then, one evening, when the mountains were 
 taking on their blue sheen and the beauty of 
 these vast stretches smote one with a feeling 
 akin to pain, Archie Smith rode up to head- 
 quarters and tossed a human hand on the 
 porch. 
 
 "Found it in the far corner of the Zacaton 
 Bottom/' he said. 
 
 Jim Floyd recognized it at once by the tri- 
 angular scar on the palm. The hand had 
 been gnawed off cleanly at the wrist. Floyd 
 wrapped the gruesome thing in a sack, wishful 
 to give it decent interment when opportunity 
 should offer. 
 
 "It's ol' man Greer's," he said. "You re- 
 member ol' man Greer? He used to dig post- 
 holes for the Lazy L. Where's the rest of 
 him, Smith?" 
 
 "I aim to go and see. Ki-yotes eat him up, 
 don't you reckon, Jim?" 
 232
 
 THE MANKILLER 
 
 "It sure looks that way. Pore ol' Greer 
 he could dig pestholes right quick," the boss 
 answered. 
 
 What Archie found of the digger of post- 
 holes established nothing of the manner of 
 death. Both arms were gone and wolves had 
 dragged the body; hence, there was no real 
 argument against the theory that old man 
 Greer, who indulged a taste for tequila, had 
 sustained a fall from his horse and had per- 
 ished miserably within sight of the ranch. Yet 
 Archie found this hard to believe. Wolves do 
 not crush in the skull of a man, and it was the 
 cowboy's conviction that anyone could fall off 
 Hardtimes, the digger's mount, twice or thrice 
 a day with no other injury than the blow to 
 his pride. 
 
 Two days later Manuel Salazar brought in 
 Greer's horse, shockingly gaunt and worried, 
 and swelled as to the head. But what inter- 
 ested the outfit, when the saddle and bridle had 
 been removed from Hardtimes, were long, par- 
 233
 
 THE UNTAMED 
 
 allel wales along neck and flank. Archie pro- 
 nounced them to be the marks of a horse's 
 teeth. 
 
 "That don't show anything. He wandered 
 off and got into a fight with another horse," 
 Floyd asserted. "Yes, sir; it's like that he 
 done just that." 
 
 After which he dismissed the unfortunate 
 Greer from his mind. The outfit shook "its 
 head and expressed sorrow for the lonely 
 digger, but opined that his fate surely went to 
 show how injurious steady application to te- 
 quila could be, more especially in cruel weather. 
 The Mexicans, and the nesters in outlying 
 parts, were not satisfied with the explanation 
 put forward. They discussed the mystery dur- 
 ing protracted pauses in work and in the dark 
 of the night. When two men met on a trail 
 and halted to pass the time of day, old man 
 Greer was the subject of talk. There were 
 rumors of a snug fortune the digger had 
 amassed and buried sixty-six thousand dol- 
 234
 
 THE MANKILLER 
 
 lars in gold, it was. Joe Toole, who made a 
 nice, comfortable living by systematic theft of 
 calves from the cattle company, did not hesi- 
 tate to hint that Greer had died a victim to 
 its professional gun-fighter for reasons best 
 known to the rich corporation; but, then, Joe 
 was prejudiced. Soon the death grew to a 
 murder, and no man not of white blood would 
 ride the Zacaton Bottom after nightfall. 
 
 Tommy Floyd talked of these and other 
 matters to his father as the boss was feeding 
 Apache. 
 
 "Pshaw!" Floyd said contemptuously. 
 "Don't you put no stock in them stories, 
 Tommy, boy. Some people in this here coun- 
 try can smell a skunk when they sight a dead 
 tree." 
 
 "But what do you guess killed him, Dad?" 
 
 "I don't know, son. I sure wish I did," was 
 the troubled reply. 
 
 He punched Apache in the ribs to make him 
 move over. The huge jack laid back his ears 
 235
 
 THE UNTAMED 
 
 and his tail whisked threateningly, but he gave 
 place with an awkward flop, and Floyd 
 laughed. Others might fear Apache, but he 
 knew there was not the least particle of vicious- 
 ness lurking in that hammerlike head. Of all 
 the ranch possessions blooded horses, thor- 
 oughbred Herefords and cowponies he liked 
 the jack best. It pandered to his vanity that 
 others should avoid the monster, or approach 
 him in diffidence, with suspicion and anxiety; 
 and, in truth, Apache's appearance was suf- 
 ficiently appalling. Great as was his blue-gray 
 bulk, it was dwarfed by the ponderous head; 
 his knees were large and bulbous, and when he 
 opened his mouth to bray, laying bare the pow- 
 erful teeth, Apache was a spectacle to scare 
 the intrepid. Horses would run at sight of 
 him; an entire pasture would squeal with fear 
 and flee on his approach. Yet there was not a 
 gentler animal to handle in the million acres 
 of the company's range. 
 
 Toward the fag-end of a day Tommy was 
 236
 
 THE MANKILLER 
 
 eating panocha on the steps of the porch, a 
 favorite diversion with him. While removing 
 some particles thereof from his cheek, in the 
 region of his ear, he espied his father riding 
 homeward from the Zacaton Bottom. Some- 
 thing in the way the boss swayed in the saddle 
 brought Tommy's head up alertly. Floyd was 
 clinging to the horn and the reins trailed on the 
 ground. The boy threw his crust away and 
 ran to meet him. A dozen yards from the 
 house the horse stopped, as though he knew 
 that the end of the journey had come for his 
 master. 
 
 "That black devil, Tommy!" his father 
 gasped, and lurched outward and to the 
 ground. 
 
 Two of the boys came running and bore 
 Floyd to his bed. That he had contrived to 
 ride home filled them with wonder at his en- 
 durance and fortitude nearly the whole of his 
 right side was torn away, one arm swung 
 limply, and there were ragged cuts on the 
 237
 
 THE UNTAMED 
 
 head. Tommy hovered near, crying to him to 
 open his eyes. 
 
 The boss never regained consciousness, and 
 died at midnight. 
 
 A Mexican doctor was summoned from a 
 border village his American competitor was 
 off in the Dragoons, assisting at an increase to 
 the population. After a minute examination 
 the man of medicine announced that five ribs 
 were broken. It was his opinion that Senor 
 Floyd had met with an accident, from the 
 effects of which he had passed away. No- 
 body was inclined to dispute this finding. 
 
 "Something done tromped him," Dan 
 Harkey asserted. "It's like one of them bulls 
 got into the Bottom and went for him when 
 he got down to drink." 
 
 "No," said Archie positively; "a bull couldn't 
 have tore him up that way. It looks to me 
 like teeth done that." 
 
 Then Tommy awoke from the benumbed 
 state in which he had moved since the tragedy 
 238
 
 THE MANKILLER 
 
 and repeated his father's dying words. They 
 were very simple of interpretation. A hlack 
 man had drifted into the country from eastern 
 Texas, and lived, an outcast, on a place not fif- 
 teen miles from headquarters. It was well 
 known that Floyd had had trouble with him, 
 being possessed of an aggressive contempt for 
 negroes, and twice had made threats to run the 
 newcomer off. 
 
 "A nigrah could easy have beat him up that- 
 away," Dan declared. "A nigrah could do 
 most anything. Yes, sir; he beat him to death 
 that's what he done. It's like he used that 
 old hoe of his'n." 
 
 Word of the killing flew over the land in the 
 marvelous fashion news is carried in the cow- 
 country. Within twelve hours men knew of it 
 in the most remote canons of the Huachucas, 
 and a party of nine set forth from headquar- 
 ters. But somebody had carried warning, for 
 the lonely hut was untenanted and the door 
 swung loose on its rawhide hinges. 
 239
 
 THE UNTAMED 
 
 They buried Floyd on top of a hill where the 
 wind had a free sweep, and piled a few stones 
 atop. Tommy fashioned a cross out of two 
 rough hoards ; and the boss sleeps there to-day. 
 The sheriff was deeply stirred and had notices 
 posted throughout the territory. 
 
 $250 REWARD 
 
 For the arrest, dead or alive, of the man who brutally 
 murdered James Floyd, boss of the Tumbling K, sixteen 
 miles from here, some time yesterday evening. This man is 
 supposed to be a negro; about forty years of age; black; 
 about six feet in height and weighing close to two hundred 
 pounds. Has a razor scar above the left ear. 
 
 He has in his possession a .35 caliber autoloading rifle, No. 
 6096, and a .32-30 pistol. He may be riding a sorrel horse 
 with a reached mane, branded 93 on left hip. 
 
 This crime is one of the most dastardly in the criminal 
 annals of the Territory, and I earnestly urge every offiter 
 and other person receiving this circular to do everything in 
 his power to effect the capture of this human fiend. 
 
 The above reward is only a preliminary reward, which 
 may be increased later to one thousand dollars, when the 
 governor, with whom the matter will be taken up, is heard 
 from. 
 
 Wire me if any suspect is arrested, or if any information 
 is obtained whatever concerning this negro, at my; expense. 
 
 240
 
 " The lonely hut was untenanted
 
 THE MANKILLER 
 
 Two months passed, and nothing was heard 
 or seen of the black man. The rains held off. 
 North and east the ranges were deluged. A 
 blight appeared to have fallen upon the Tum- 
 bling K. The land grew a shade grayer, the 
 dust spurts whirled in gleeful, savage dance, 
 and the cattle gave up the effort of living and 
 lay down to die. All that the boys could do 
 was to distribute salt and feed and work fran- 
 tically to maintain the water supply. The 
 emaciated brutes would eat of the oil-cake and 
 hay, and sweat profusely on the nose, then 
 stiffen out and expire with a sigh. Those that 
 clung to life carried swollen under- jaws from 
 the strain of tearing at the short grass. 
 
 "Poor bastard!" Archie grunted, tailing up a 
 cow he had already helped to her feet three 
 times. "It fair makes a man sick at the stum- 
 mick to see 'em. Here, you doggone ol' she- 
 devil! Why don't you try for to help your- 
 self? Up you come! That's it; try to hook 
 me." 
 
 241
 
 THE UNTAMED 
 
 It was no use. He shot her where she lay, 
 and skinned her. Then, with the wet hide 
 dragging at the end of a rope and her calf 
 thrown over the fork of the saddle, he set out 
 for headquarters. The orphan was a lusty 
 youngster, and Archie made him many prom- 
 ises, accompanied by many strange oaths. 
 
 "LiT dogy," he said, "I'll find a mammy for 
 you to-night if I have to tie up the old milch 
 cow. Do you think you can suck a milch cow, 
 dogy? Sure you can. Man alive, feel of him 
 kick! He's a stout rascal. You'll be a fine 
 steer some day, dogy." 
 
 On a black-dark night flames leaped above 
 the rim of the mountain, and the Tumbling K 
 were roused from bed to go forth with wet 
 sacks, and rage in their hearts, for the scum of 
 humanity who would fire a range. Twenty-six 
 hours in the saddle and six more fighting the 
 leaping, treacherous enemy ; then two hours of 
 sweating sleep on saddle-blankets beside their 
 hobbled horses, and back a score of miles on 
 242
 
 THE MANKILLER 
 
 desperate trails for fresh mounts three sep- 
 arate times they beat out the blaze with sacks 
 and back-firing. Once more, rising heavy- 
 lidded and dripping from the stupor of utter 
 exhaustion, they saw it licking hungrily 
 through the Gap. No unlucky cigarette-stub 
 thrown amid parched grass, no abandoned 
 campfire, had done this. It was the deliber- 
 ate work of an enemy. 
 
 Orders came to move the cattle down into the 
 valley, lest they perish to the last horn, to the 
 last torn hoof. 
 
 "It'll take you three days to move 'em ten 
 miles," the manager said ; "but never mind. 
 Ease 'em. Ease 'em careful. The man who 
 yells at a cow, or pushes her along, gets his 
 time right there. The only real way to handle 
 cattle is to let 'em do what they want and work 
 'em as you can. Think that over, boys." 
 
 Manuel Salazar remembered this warning as 
 he moved his tired horse at a snail's pace behind 
 a bunch of sick ones in the Zacaton Bottom. 
 243
 
 THE UNTAMED 
 
 Manuel made twenty dollars a month with con- 
 summate ease, working only seven days in the 
 week and only thirteen hours a day; and he 
 would not throw his job away lightly. There- 
 fore he permitted the gaunt cows to straggle 
 as pleased them, humming to himself while they 
 nibbled at tufts here and there. If one turned 
 its head to look at him it fell from sheer weak- 
 ness ; therefore he held aloof. So the sad pro- 
 cession crept along. 
 
 It was in Manuel's mind to save a mile by 
 moving the bunch through the horse pasture. 
 He put them through the gate with no trouble 
 and was dreamily planning how he might steal 
 back a hair rope Chico had stolen from him, 
 when the quirt slipped out of his fingers. The 
 vaquero got down to pick it from the ground. 
 
 "Hi! Hi!" he yelled in panic, and ducked 
 just in time. 
 
 A black shape towered above him, striking 
 with forefeet, reaching for the nimble Manuel 
 with its teeth. Its mouth yawned agape; Sal- 
 244
 
 THE MANKILLER 
 
 azar swore he could have rammed a lard bucket 
 into it. The vaquero swerved from under the 
 deadly hoofs and hit out blindly with the quirt. 
 The stallion screamed his rage for the first time 
 and lunged at him, head swinging low, the lips 
 flicking back from the ferocious teeth. Man- 
 uel seized a stone, put to his hand by the blessed 
 saints, and hurled it with precision, striking the 
 horse on the nose. Midnight blared from pain 
 and shook his royal mane in fury, but the 
 shock stayed him and Salazar gained his horse. 
 
 "Now," he yelled, pulling his gun and 
 maneuvering his mount that he might be 
 ready to flee, "come on, you! You want to 
 fight? That's music to me." 
 
 But Midnight did not want to fight. He 
 had employed craft in stealing upon the man, 
 and now he moved off sulkily, the whites of 
 his eyes rolled back, a thin stream of blood 
 trickling from his muzzle. Salazar longed to 
 shoot holes through his shiny black hide, but 
 contented himself with abuse instead. Was 
 245
 
 THE UNTAMED 
 
 not the stallion worth five thousand dollars? 
 Who was he Manuel, a poor vaquero to be 
 considered in the same thought with so noble a 
 beast? 
 
 "Tommy," he said as he unsaddled at head- 
 quarters, "I've found who killed your pore 
 father. Yes, and old man Greer, too. Don't 
 look so pale, Tommy." 
 
 Tommy stalked into the manager's office next 
 forenoon, a very solemn and very determined, 
 if a short and somewhat dirty figure. He was 
 white under his freckles, and he talked through 
 his teeth, jerkily, his eyes fixed unwaveringly 
 on the manager's face. 
 
 "Midnight!" the manager exclaimed. 
 "Nonsense! Why, he wouldn't harm a fly. 
 That horse would never kill a man. He's 
 worth five thousand dollars. Since we got him 
 from Kentucky, two years ago, a woman could 
 handle him, Tommy, boy. Salazar must have 
 been teasing him. You'll have to look some- 
 where else, Tommy." 
 
 246
 
 THE MANKILLEK 
 
 "You mean you ain't going to do nothing, 
 Mr. Chalmers?" Tommy asked in a dry voice. 
 
 "Of course not. Midnight? Impossible. 
 Why, that horse is worth five thousand dollars. 
 He couldn't have done it." 
 
 Tommy went back home very slowly. That 
 night he sat beside Manuel's candle and cleaned 
 and oiled a sawed-off .25-30 rifle, inherited 
 from the man who slept on the hill. Salazar 
 smoked lazily and watched him through droop- 
 ing lids. The boy finished his task and leaned 
 forward on the stool, staring at the tiny flame, 
 the weapon across his knees. 
 
 Of what avail to shoot Midnight? Of 
 course it would be easy. Tommy had ac- 
 quired some degree of skill by blowing the 
 heads off chickens whenever any were desired 
 for the dinner-table, and he felt assured that at 
 two hundred yards he could pick off the stal- 
 lion with one pressure of his finger. It would 
 be mere child's work to distinguish Midnight 
 from the mares, even on the murkiest night. 
 247.
 
 THE UNTAMED 
 
 But, after all had the stallion done the kill- 
 ing? He had only Manuel's experience and 
 suspicions to go on. Moreover, if he took 
 punishment into his own hands they might 
 throw him into a jail. Midnight was worth 
 five thousand dollars : assuredly Mr. Chalmers 
 would cast Tommy out into the world to shift 
 for himself. He put the rifle back under his 
 bunk. . 
 
 Very discreetly Tommy entered the horse 
 pasture at sunup he had been unable to sleep 
 for scheming and made his way down the 
 mile-long fence toward the corner where the 
 mares usually grazed at that hour. He had a 
 six-shooter in his pocket for an emergency, but 
 he hoped that he would not use it. Midnight 
 sighted him and stood rigid a full minute, 
 twenty paces in advance of the mares, gazing 
 at the boy. He was a regal animal; Tommy 
 thought he had never seen so glorious a horse. 
 Then the stallion advanced with mincing steps, 
 his head bobbing, the ears laid back. He 
 248
 
 THE MANKILLER 
 
 sidled nearer, without haste, whinnying softly. 
 The boy waited until he was a dozen feet dis- 
 tant, then threw himself flat and rolled under 
 the barbed- wire fence. With a rending scream 
 Midnight reared and plunged for him, his fore- 
 feet battering the ground where Tommy had 
 fallen. He tore at the earth in discomfiture 
 and wrath, and raved up and down on the 
 other side of the fence, his nostrils flaring, his 
 eyes a glare of demoniacal hate. Tommy sur- 
 veyed him in deathly quiet. 
 
 The dark came warm, with puffs of hot 
 wind, so that the Tumbling K men reviled the 
 discomfort joyously, since it presaged rain. 
 So long as the cold nights endured there could 
 be no relief. Tommy slipped from the bunk- 
 house for a breath of air, though it was past 
 bedtime and they had told him to turn in. 
 
 "Apache!" he called in a low tone, gliding 
 into the stall. 
 
 The jack cocked his monstrous ears and lis- 
 tened, knowing well the voice. Tommy put a 
 249
 
 THE UNTAMED 
 
 halter over his head and opened the stall door. 
 It was gnawed and scarred by Apache's teeth 
 and hoofs, and the boy wrenched it from the 
 hinges and laid it aslant on the ground. 
 
 "You done bust your way out, Apache/* 
 he whispered. "You hear me, you ol* dev- 
 il?" 
 
 He led him out into the corral and thence 
 into the lane, talking softly as they went. 
 Apache raised his nose and sniffed of the wind. 
 When they reached the horse pasture the boy 
 tore out the strands of wire at a spot near the 
 corner of the fence. 
 
 "You was fond of my Dad, wasn't you, 
 Apache?" Tommy quavered, working with 
 nervous fingers to unbuckle the halter. "Then 
 go to it." 
 
 The jack required no bidding. He 
 wrenched free and stepped carefully over the 
 wire into Midnight's domain. Apache never 
 did anything in ill-judged haste. A blur, two 
 hundred yards off, attracted him and he headed 
 250
 
 THE MANKILLER 
 
 toward it eagerly. A. moment, and he 
 stopped; then went forward with caution. 
 
 Midnight had seen him coming. He trotted 
 out from his band of mares and halted ex- 
 pectantly. Next instant he had recognized 
 Apache for what he was, and shrilled a chal- 
 lenge. The jack brayed like a fiend and went 
 forward slowly to meet him. 
 
 Now, a capable jack can whip any stallion 
 that ever breathed. It is really an education to 
 watch a jack like the mighty Apache fight. 
 There exists the same difference between 
 the methods of a stallion and a jack as between 
 those of a nervous amateur boxer and the sea- 
 soned champion. A jack has no fear that any- 
 one can detect, and is practically insensible to 
 pain. One can see at a glance what an advan- 
 tage this gives him over an opponent with any; 
 lingering predilection for longevity. 
 
 Also, a jack never fights for glory, never 
 fights for the gallery. His sole object is to 
 win. Wherefore, no idle and frivolous pranc- 
 251
 
 THE UNTAMED 
 
 ing about for him no swift rush in, a 'blind 
 striking with hoofs, a tearing with the teeth, 
 then out again. A jack is not constructed that 
 way. Fighting is a business a serious, albeit 
 a pleasurable, business ; and he attends to that 
 side of it with passionate singleness of purpose. 
 He will watch his opportunity with the alert 
 coolness of the professional, wasting not an 
 ounce of energy. When the opening comes he 
 goes to it like the stroke of a rattler, gets his 
 grip and shuts his eyes and hangs on. There 
 is considerable of the bulldog in a jack, and if 
 he is to be gotten off at all, one must pry him 
 off with a crowbar; in fact, next to a Shetland 
 stallion, which is the darlingest little fighter 
 that ever tore at an enemy's ribs, nothing more 
 instructive can be witnessed than a full-sized 
 jack in a fair field and no interruptions. 
 
 Apache had fought before many, many 
 
 times. Therefore he made for the foe with 
 
 circumspection, his head jerking sideways, his 
 
 tail tucked, ears laid flat on his neck, and his 
 
 252
 
 THE MANKILLER 
 
 feet barely touching the ground, so lightly did 
 his tense muscles carry him. One evil eye 
 measured the giant horse with venomous com- 
 posure. 
 
 Vastly different was Midnight's attack. 
 The stallion had pluck to spare, hut his temper 
 was overhasty and his skill slight. Rage for- 
 ever clouded his judgment in encounter. He 
 had learned only one plan of hattle and that 
 was to rush and bear down his opponent. 
 There was his rival. He would kill him. 
 Midnight's was a simple creed. 
 
 His harsh scream rent the night silence, and 
 the fight was on. Another horse would have 
 circled so formidable an adversary in an en- 
 deavor to create an opening, but the black's 
 temper was too imperious for delay. Straight 
 was his rush. He bore down on the jack at 
 the top of his speed, his wonderful, supple body 
 a-quiver with eagerness and anger. 
 
 Then Apache did a remarkable thing a 
 thing almost human in ingenuity. What Apa- 
 253
 
 THE UNTAMED 
 
 che didn't know about fighting is best forgot- 
 ten. Swerving ever so slightly as the black 
 came, he lunged to meet him, crashing shoulder 
 to shoulder with all the strength of his tough 
 sinews behind the impact. Hit sideways, 
 taken off his balance, the force of Midnight's 
 own charge contributed to his overthrow. 
 Down he tumbled, scrambling with his feet as 
 he fell. Before his body touched the ground, 
 the jack whirled and lashed with both heels into 
 his sides. With the same appalling speed, 
 Apache drove for the throat of his prostrate 
 enemy, secured his grip and shut his eyes, 
 wrenching f renziedly from side to side and up- 
 ward. 
 
 It is well not to tell further what Apache 
 did to the mankiller. A jack has about as 
 much sense of mercy as he has of fear, and 
 he has never been taught any rules of warfare. 
 When he gets his enemy where his enemy 
 would like to get him, he does his utmost to ob- 
 literate him from the face of the earth. So it 
 254
 
 THE MANKILLER 
 
 was that next day the Tumbling K men were 
 barely able to recognize the Kentucky stallion 
 in the torn, broken, black pulp they found in 
 the horse pasture. 
 
 All night long Apache brayed and screeched. 
 The noise of his triumph would set a soul to 
 quaking. It pierced Manuel's dreams and he 
 muttered in his sleep a prayer for protection 
 from the Evil One. The jack pranced around 
 and around his victim, and up and down the 
 pasture, wild with the joy of battle, magnificent 
 in his superb strength and the pride of victory. 
 Toward dawn he abandoned the carcass and 
 drove off the terror-stricken mares as the just 
 spoils of the conqueror. 
 
 Big white clouds boiled up back of the moun- 
 tains that afternoon, with a stiff wind from the 
 southeast behind them; and at sunset the heav- 
 ens opened of their blessed treasure. Manuel 
 and Tommy lay in the bunkhouse listening to 
 the thunder of rain on the sod roof. A burro 
 came to the door and poked his patient head 
 255
 
 THE UNTAMED 
 
 inside, seeking warmth and a friendly dry 
 spot. 
 
 "Come in!" cried Manuel cheerily. "Take 
 a chair. Tommy, give him your bed. Ain't 
 that music, though? Hark! Oh, the cattle! 
 Can't you see them soaking in it, hoy?" 
 
 A yellow mongrel ousted the doubtful burro 
 from the doorway and began nosing about for 
 a place to rest his uneasy rump. The roof was 
 leaking in strong, hearty streams, and Salazar 
 sprawled on his back, letting the water run on to 
 his chest. He was smiling placidly. Tommy 
 snuggled into the blankets and pictured to him- 
 self a new land of much grass, and clear-eyed, 
 contented cows and high-tailed calves. 
 
 "The curse is lifted," Manuel observed 
 piously. "Yes, sir. The dear God sent the 
 jack to kill that stallion. How else could it 
 be? What do you think, Tommy, boy?" 
 
 "I reckon so," said Tommy. 
 
 256
 
 IX 
 NEUTRIA 
 
 MY name is Neutria. It means 
 Beaver, and they gave it me because 
 I tuck my tail. Nobody but Chappo 
 ever called me a pretty horse, but Chappo once 
 said in my hearing that my ugly roan hide cov- 
 ered more beauty than all the girls of Sonora 
 possessed ; and Chappo really knew everything 
 worth knowing. 
 
 He was not my first master. There was an- 
 other, to speak of whom is pain a tall man, 
 with only one eye, and a long, sandy mus- 
 tache, stained of the tobacco he chewed per- 
 petually. This person owned my mother and 
 we lived in a small pasture among the lesser 
 hills of the San Jose range. What he did to 
 sustain life was never quite plain to us, be- 
 cause the land he held remained uncultivated
 
 THE UNTAMED 
 
 and he spent much time by himself in his dirty 
 shack, drinking from a demijohn which he 
 kept hidden under some sacks in a corner. 
 Oftentimes he would come from his drinking 
 and drive us into a corral he had constructed of 
 ocatilla. There he would beat my mother, and 
 chase us about and about. I was very young 
 then and he spared me. She was terribly 
 afraid of him, and whenever he roared at her, 
 even though it was in the sixty-acre field, where 
 he could be evaded, she fell to trembling and 
 would walk falteringly to the halter he held 
 out. 
 
 There were nights when he forgot us entirely 
 and left us in a small wooden pen, without 
 anything to eat or drink. Occasionally a calf 
 was dragged up and shoved in with us, and it 
 would bawl for a day and a night for the 
 mother from whose side it had been torn. 
 After a while he would brand the little crea- 
 ture with his own mark of the inverted pitch- 
 fork. In this manner he gathered a respect- 
 258
 
 NEUTRIA 
 
 able bunch of cattle, though I know of two 
 cows only which he ever bought. 
 
 This is not the place to tell how he broke me 
 to the saddle. He made me obey him, but he 
 did not break my spirit, even though my sides 
 were bloody from his savage anger. Although 
 Sloan branded all else he could get, on me he 
 never put the iron. 
 
 "What for you haven't got the Pitchfork on 
 that liT horse, Sloan?" a cowboy asked him 
 one day at Buzzard's Feast. 
 
 "He don't need it, this hoss don't. He's so 
 doggone ornery nobody'd steal him," said my 
 master. 
 
 Later I heard the other a roaring, swag- 
 gering boy, with a kind eye and soothing hands 
 tell a friend that the only animal Sloan did 
 not brand was the one which he owned legally. 
 
 Whenever the strength was in me, I fought 
 him. He was a powerful man, with a punish- 
 ing knee-grip and a poise that was almost un- 
 shakable, whatever his condition. But oppres- 
 259
 
 THE UNTAMED 
 
 sion begets cunning, and ride as he might, there 
 were times when I could hurl him off. If a 
 horse take thought when he starts his pitch, in- 
 stead of bucking in blind, raving anger, there 
 is a chance that he will have the victory. I 
 mastered a trick of rocketing straight into the 
 air and whirling about back under the rider, 
 before my feet touched the ground. This is 
 difficult, but imparts a really terrific shock; 
 even Sloan could not withstand it. Of course 
 he would beat and spur me almost to death 
 when he was able to walk again. If that 
 method of fighting him failed, there was an- 
 other, dangerous to horse and rider alike. I 
 would rear high, with my head thrown back, 
 whereupon Sloan would kick his feet free of 
 the stirrups lest he be caught under me when I 
 toppled. Then, before he could recover, my 
 head would shoot down between my forelegs 
 and once more I would go to pitching. It was 
 very efficacious, this stratagem, and the pleas- 
 ure of it was much enhanced if the ground was 
 26Q
 
 NEUTRIA 
 
 rocky or there were cactus and mesquite into 
 which he could be flung. 
 
 In spite of the endless cruelty to which 
 Sloan subjected me, he taught me much. 
 Whatever else he might be, he was a cowman; 
 but he knew and practiced a lot that no honest 
 cowman should know. Sometimes he would 
 reverse the shoes on my feet that the impress 
 on the ground might appear to be a trail lead- 
 ing in the opposite direction to his line of travel. 
 He rode much at night, so that I became ex- 
 pert at picking my way down rock-cluttered 
 declivities in the blackest of the dark. Once 
 when he fled before a body of horsemen which 
 had discovered three calves hogtied in a box 
 caiion, I managed to distance them. There- 
 upon he alighted and muffled my hoofs witE 
 gunny-sacks, that he might follow a stony 
 creek-bed without sound. 
 
 "Damn, but you kin climb out when you 
 want to," he said grudgingly, when we were 
 safe at home. 
 
 261
 
 THE UNTAMED 
 
 Because I learned quickly and never forgo?, 
 Sloan held his hand from killing me in any of 
 his outbursts of rage. At least a dozen times 
 did he tie me fast to a snubbing-post and be- 
 labor my head and neck and ribs with a stout 
 club, until I grew sick from pain and my glaz- 
 ing eyes warned him that he had touched the 
 limit of my endurance. Then he would desist, 
 for I was of value to him. These fits of 
 frenzy were occasioned by the most trifling 
 happenings. Perhaps when he came to drive 
 in my mother and me, we did not move fast 
 enough she was growing very old or she ex- 
 hibited a too great fear. Then he would rope 
 us and proceed to torture until his temper 
 waned. 
 
 I come now to the time he killed my mother 
 and I won a brief freedom. The weather had 
 been murderously hot. From January to July 
 no drop of rain fell and our hills grew sullenly 
 naked and brown. Sloan's spring ceased its 
 flow. He did not discover that for two days, 
 262
 
 NEUTRIA 
 
 being stupefied, and we were terribly wasted 
 when he turned us out to find water for our- 
 selves. 
 
 There was no grass. The earth showed 
 gray as the rocks and as bare, and the rocks 
 gave back the heat in shimmering waves. 
 Where the ground had cracked under the sun, 
 giant fissures gaped for the feet of the un- 
 wary. Five miles from home we saw some 
 cows stumbling hopelessly out of a canon and 
 learned that there, too, the water had failed. 
 Their dried skins drew tight over their bones 
 and the panic of desperation glared from their 
 eyes. One prodded at my mother as we 
 passed, refusing to give place as cattle do to 
 horses, then sank weakly to the ground. 
 Later she stretched out on her side, and we 
 knew that the end was near. 
 
 Turkey buzzards strutted everywhere, 
 
 gorged to apathy. They would cluster on a 
 
 carcass, unwinking and insolent, and watch us 
 
 nosing in quest of a bite to eat. Fires had rav- 
 
 263
 
 THE UNTAMED 
 
 aged the lower ridges, and trees and brush were 
 stripped clean. To remain here meant slow 
 death, and we fared higher. 
 
 We met with cattle on the upper slopes, 
 spent and picking their path with care. A 
 heifer slipped and rolled downward almost be- 
 neath our feet. There were many orphan 
 calves, bawling impotently against echoing 
 canons' walls, and carrion-crows hung sound- 
 lessly in flocks, their shadows flitting swiftly 
 over the earth in front of us. We came on 
 the body of a horse at a dried waterhole. He 
 had plunged from a ledge in his exhaustion, to 
 die helplessly in sight of the place he sought. 
 Crows had torn out the eyes. 
 
 But I would not let my mother become dis- 
 heartened. All these creatures were moving 
 downward, and some propelling force has al- 
 ways driven me upward in time of stress. So 
 I led her far among the peaks. It was deso- 
 late enough, of a certainty so barren that my 
 poor, tottering mother wanted to go back, 
 264
 
 NEUTRIA 
 
 though she knew well that the homeward 
 stretch was beyond her strength but I urged 
 her forward. 
 
 We came at last to four peaks, away up in 
 those mountains, and threading a defile, 
 emerged into a cuplike draw among them; and 
 there were mesquite in profusion and many 
 green things. And more precious than all, a 
 tiny spring bubbled behind a boulder at the 
 north end. It would not water more than four 
 head, but it sufficed, and we tarried on its edge 
 all of one evening. 
 
 For forty days we stayed in our random 
 home and gained in flesh and in strength. 
 Then, one hot, sticky evening, great banks of 
 mist surged upward and massed around our be- 
 loved peaks, and the rain broke from the press 
 and drenched the hills. We turned our backs 
 to the driving torrents, clamped our tails and 
 let the cool water soak into our crackling hides. 
 
 What a difference in the land when the sun 
 showed again, clear and warm! It was as a 
 265
 
 THE UNTAMED 
 
 dead thing come to life. Tender shoots thrust 
 their heads above the hard ground; the trees 
 stopped their complaints, and nodded and 
 rustled jauntily to a southwest breeze, for the 
 sap stirred within them and soon they would 
 put forth new leaves. A ground squirrel 
 emerged from a hole, blinked impudently at 
 us, and then dashed off across the rocks, reck- 
 less from sheer joy of being alive. We sniffed 
 of the good, fresh wind and headed for the 
 lower reaches, for there would be rare grazing 
 now that the rains had washed the valleys. 
 Thus we came to live close to our old home. 
 
 Sloan came riding on an October day. 
 
 "Crackee, but you two is fat," he shouted 
 gleefully. 
 
 He had a new horse, a high, long-backed 
 sorrel with the legs of a racer. I knew the 
 breed, a steel-dust valley horse, built for 
 speed and helpless as a wagon among our 
 crags. Sloan drove us in and got down to put 
 a halter on the mare. 
 
 266
 
 NEUTRIA 
 
 My mother had never concealed her dread 
 of him. It moved him always to an excess of 
 fury, but she had learned terror in youth and 
 it held her through all her years. Now she 
 snorted, her limbs a-tremble, and drew back. 
 The sweat stood out on her muzzle and dyed 
 her neck. 
 
 "What," Sloan bellowed, "you ol' she-devil, 
 you ain't learned to quit dodging yet? Then, 
 by God, I'll learn you." 
 
 He swung a breast-yoke with all his force, 
 smashing my mother squarely between the 
 ears. The mare gave a moan, a long sigh, and 
 sank slowly to the ground, the eyelids flicker- 
 ing. I saw her legs stiffen. 
 
 He kicked her where she lay and started for 
 me, but I rushed by him, lashing with my shoe- 
 less heels as I went. They caught him full in 
 the chest. I can hear yet the grunt he gave 
 at the impact; then over he went. 
 
 He had put up only two bars of the corral 
 gate. I took them with a rush and headed for 
 267
 
 THE UNTAMED 
 
 the high hills. Sloan scrambled to his feet, 
 coughing and swearing, and ran to the sorrel. 
 In the saddle, he fired twice, but though the 
 bullets slashed the ground ahead of me, I never 
 wavered. He let out a shout and spurred 
 after, making ready his rope as he came. It 
 made my blood dance to see these futile efforts. 
 For a valley horse is to a mountain horse as a 
 house kitten is to a wild-cat. It is true that an 
 exceptional valley horse, if turned loose in the 
 hills young enough, may in three years' time 
 develop into a fair mountain pony with good 
 schooling, that is. Even then he will lack 
 something of our depth of chest and perfec- 
 tion of feet. But put a valley horse, green, 
 in the mountains, and he will stand and shiver 
 and sweat, not daring to venture. So I was 
 elated when Sloan came pounding behind, 
 knowing full well that the sorrel could never 
 follow where I would lead. 
 
 The chase led up a rocky canon filled with 
 post-oak, along a mesa, through a gap, skirted 
 268
 
 NEUTRIA 
 
 a summit, and dipped downward into another 
 canon. Now we were straightened out for my 
 familiar peaks. Suddenly I became aware that 
 the pursuers had dropped back, and, easing in 
 my run, I saw Sloan beating the sorrel over the 
 head with his rope. He was ever thus, blam- 
 ing his mount on the least excuse. 
 
 Two days and a night I fled. Of course it 
 was necessary to pause for a few hours to eat 
 grass and to drink, but fear of Sloan kept me 
 moving. I struck south, then westward. 
 Fences delayed my flight considerably in the 
 valleys, but I had had experience with them, 
 and roamed along until I discovered a spot 
 where the wires were partially down and could 
 be jumped, or until I found a watergap. I 
 suppose I covered one hundred and sixty 
 miles, but not all in a straight line by any 
 means, and at sundown of the second day I 
 was in a goodly range of hills. Here I rested. 
 
 A band of bronchos wandered into a draw 
 where I fed that night, and I joined them. 
 269
 
 THE UNTAMED 
 
 We roved where we willed, and the rain fell 
 abundantly and the grass was green and plen- 
 tiful. 
 
 Why is it one can never be entirely happy? 
 If one be breast-high in succulent zacaton, a 
 fly will mar the feast. I have observed a mare 
 in a field of alfalfa, neglecting what she could 
 have without effort, to stretch unavailingly 
 through the fence after a tuft of tough John- 
 son-grass; in fact, I have done that myself. 
 Here was I with millions of virgin acres in 
 which to wander; all I could eat; agreeable 
 companions. Yet I pined to hear a man's 
 voice. That sounds inexplicable, but it is the 
 truth. Even Sloan's harsh bass tones would 
 have been welcome, after six months of free- 
 dom. Man's companionship had been bred in 
 me, and though his presence might bring ter- 
 ror, yet I longed for it, and the master-grip 
 of his hand. 
 
 Winter passed and the long, dry season 
 opened in a blaze of heat. A horseman bore 
 270
 
 NEUTRIA 
 
 'down on us one day, from the south, and we 
 massed swiftly for escape. Within a mile, 
 two more riders appeared, and my compan- 
 ions increased their pace to a gallop. Only 
 I, of all the band, knew what this meant. The 
 others were bronchos who had never felt the 
 rope and they ran blindly, ignorant of the cor- 
 don closing in from every direction. But I 
 was cleverer. Suddenly darting from the 
 herd, I sped within sixty feet of a cowboy 
 not close enough for his loop and gained the 
 mouth of a canon. Up this I spurted, the 
 rider in hot chase. 
 
 How often are pride and conceit con- 
 founded. The canon narrowed narrowed to 
 sheer walls fifty feet apart and there ahead 
 of me, blocking my path, was a cliff of red- 
 streaked rock. Water trickled down its face. 
 That much I perceived, and then it rushed 
 upon me that the race was run. I turned short 
 about and tried to go by him as I had passed 
 Sloan, but he threw his rope and caught me 
 271
 
 THE UNTAMED 
 
 cleanly. Sloan had taught me the lesson of 
 the rope taught it in bitter vindictiveness < 
 and I followed my captor without struggle. 
 
 "Done got a maverick," he announced, when 
 he rejoined his comrades. 
 
 "He's been rode before, Chappo," another 
 said. "Look at the way he follows. And 
 there's been a cinch sore on his left side. 
 Look." 
 
 "I cain't see it," Chappo said obstinately. 
 "He's a maverick, I'm a-telling you. And he's 
 my horse, because I done found him." 
 
 When he had me in the corral at headquar- 
 ters, Chappo walked fearlessly to my head. 
 Of course I began to quiver, for well I knew 
 what this portended. 
 
 "You pore son-of-a-gun," he muttered, and 
 stopped. "So he done beat you over the 
 haid?" 
 
 He scratched my ears and rubbed my head 
 lightly between the eyes. All the while, he 
 talked to me in a low tone, with a sort of laugh 
 272
 
 NEUTRIA 
 
 behind it. Chappo was a small man, no higher 
 than a fence post, but there was something in 
 his touch that made me fear and yet want him 
 to keep on rubbing. When he attempted to 
 put the bridle on, I stood rigid, expectant. 
 Surely the beating would come now. It did 
 not. Instead, he said, "You oF rascal, you," 
 and jabbed me in the ribs with his thumb. 
 Now, here is a curious thing. A man can jab 
 you with his thumb so that it hurts, and he 
 can jab you in the same place with the same 
 force and it will only tickle pleasantly. Ev- 
 erything depends on the spirit in which it is 
 done. Chappo's thumb was very agreeable 
 and I laid back my ears and pretended to nip . 
 at him. 
 
 "I'll top you," he said, "and then I'll put the 
 Box C on you." 
 
 It amused me vastly to hear this mite of a 
 
 man tell so confidently how he would ride me, 
 
 when even the terrible Sloan could not keep 
 
 the saddle at times. Just to scare him, I 
 
 273
 
 THE UNTAMED 
 
 bowed my back when he slapped the blanket 
 on. Then I rolled my eyes backward to note 
 the effect. He was grinning, actually grin- 
 ning and his hat did not show above my 
 withers. Next, he threw on the saddle, and 
 the curve in my spine was unmistakable; but 
 he merely hummed a tune and began to cinch 
 me tightly, with careless freedom, just as if 
 we had been friends all our years. It sur- 
 prised me so much that I suffered his imper- 
 tinence in quiet. 
 
 There were some cowboys on the fence, 
 watching. 
 
 "Want me to ear him, Chappo?" one asked. 
 
 "No-oo. Me and him's friends already. 
 Ain't we?" He made me walk a few steps, 
 still grinning as he inspected the significant 
 upward tilt of the saddle. "Look at his tail, 
 boys. We'll shore have to call him Beaver." 
 
 "Call him, Neutria," one cried. 
 
 My new master nodded and then stood di- 
 rectly in front. I tried to look away, but his 
 274
 
 NEUTRIA 
 
 eyes drew mine in spite of me, and when he 
 backed off, I followed, though he exerted no 
 pressure on the bit. There was nothing hard 
 and there was nothing mean in those eyes; a 
 devil lurked in Sloan's. Chappo's were clear 
 and very good-natured, yet oddly compelling. 
 
 "That's all right," he said. "Now we know 
 each other, me and you, Neutria." 
 
 He pulled my head around by the cheek of 
 the bridle and next moment was atop. I re- 
 mained motionless. The grip of his knees was 
 curiously at variance with his bulk: somehow 
 that grip raised a doubt in my mind that I 
 could shed him. 
 
 Next second I was pitching, more from force 
 of habit than from any wish to hurt this youth. 
 What was the matter? No spurs gored my 
 sides; I felt no sting of quirt. Instead, 
 Chappo merely swayed in the saddle and he 
 whooped me on to further effort, hitting my 
 shoulders gleefully with his hat. This was 
 too much a wight of one hundred and twenty 
 275
 
 THE UNTAMED 
 
 pounds to make game of me! I paused for 
 breath and to gather strength. 
 
 "Hey, you ain't quitting?" he inquired. 
 "Wipe her up, liT feller. Fly at it." 
 
 After that it was imperative I should do my 
 best Sloan could never have kept his seat 
 when I let myself loose to his challenge. 
 Every trick his brutality had taught me I em- 
 ployed, and only once did Chappo waver. He 
 was riding on his spurs now, yet he had to grab 
 desperately for the horn; but he righted him- 
 self with a laugh and renewed his yelling. At 
 last I was compelled to stop. 
 
 "You're shore a dandy, ISTeutria," he panted. 
 "Let's call it an even break." 
 
 That suited me admirably. It would have 
 been a shame to injure the boy. 
 
 I never pitched with Chappo again. He 
 was always kind to me, save once only. That 
 was when he placed the Box C on my left hip 
 with a red-hot iron. It pained horribly, but 
 I realized that all horses had to go through this 
 276
 
 NEUTRIA 
 
 ordeal and that Chappo did not mean to be 
 brutal. 
 
 What times we had that summer and au- 
 tumn! It was a year of frequent rains, and 
 horses and cattle were sleek and fat and rol- 
 licking. Chappo and I would go out from 
 camp twice each week and prowl the mountains 
 the livelong day. Perhaps a long-eared calf 
 would be roused up he is one that has escaped 
 branding and my master would settle him- 
 self and take down his rope even as I flashed 
 in pursuit, over rocks and brush, down canons' 
 sides, up cliffs, shooting through defiles. It 
 is something to be a mountain horse, though it 
 is I who say it; no other horse in the world 
 could have carried Chappo at full speed where 
 I carried him after mavericks. And he never 
 faltered. 
 
 "Wherever you put your doggone feet is 
 good enough for me, Neutria," he said once, at 
 the bottom of a perilous descent. 
 
 Chappo was an excellent cowhand, more 
 277,
 
 THE UNTAMED 
 
 skilled than Sloan. He would seldom miss a 
 throw in the wildest country, and when he had 
 the calf roped, down he would jump and hogtie 
 it before one could count thirty. Then I would 
 fall to grazing while he built a fire, heated his 
 running-iron and put the company brand on 
 the captive. There were days when we caught 
 four or five in this manner. It was glorious 
 sport. 
 
 And then, of course, there was the fall 
 roundup, when all our riders twenty-two in 
 number swept the range in daily drives. We 
 collected more than nineteen thousand head of 
 cattle ; some of the long-horned steers Chappo 
 and I brought in had not set eyes on a man 
 since they were suckling calves. It was good 
 to chase these outlaws, they being stout and 
 hearty on the rope, and it nerved me to see 
 Chappo's fearlessness and confidence. He 
 would tie to one of the big brutes without hesi- 
 tation, whatever the nature of the ground, 
 trusting implicitly to me to throw it. If a 
 278
 
 NEUTRIA 
 
 steer had dragged me down, it would have 
 meant maiming for Chappo and me, so I was 
 ever on my guard. I always contrived to 
 throw them, even though some weighed two 
 hundred pounds heavier than I. 
 
 I was Chappo's top horse that is to say, his 
 best saddler. Consequently it was me he rode 
 to town on the rare occasions he could get 
 there. I took the best of care of him. 
 
 On one occasion when he had spent an en- 
 tire morning in town visiting various places of 
 call with friends, Chappo bet fifty dollars I 
 could throw an enormous bull they had in a 
 feeding-pen. It was an intensely foolish 
 wager; besides, he hadn't the money, and was 
 earning only forty dollars a month. The sight 
 of this bull a Hereford appalled me for a 
 moment, for he was a monstrous fellow, 
 blocky and solid; but Chappo patted my neck 
 and whispered to me, and when he let his noose 
 fly, I darted off with taut muscles, unafraid, 
 yet ready for the tremendous jar that would 
 279
 
 THE UNTAMED 
 
 come with the tightened rope. What a giant 
 he was! When he lunged, the girth nearly 
 cut me in two, and for the fraction of a second 
 I thought my feet would fly from under me 
 and that Chappo would be ignominiously pros- 
 trated in the dust. Then, at the critical mo- 
 ment, we gave him slack, let him run to the 
 end of it, wheeled like a striking snake, and 
 with a cunning heave, flopped him ponderously 
 on the ground. It broke his neck and they 
 put Chappo in the calaboose. The boss 
 got him out only after much ceremony and 
 considerable loose talk and the payment of 
 moneys. 
 
 Chappo dearly loved to go to town. He 
 was always in excellent humor on these trips 
 and would attempt feats that reflected more 
 credit on his stoutness of heart than on his 
 head. On a night, he tried to make me climb 
 the steps of the hotel veranda and enter the 
 bar. Had it been anyone but Chappo, I would 
 have pitched him off without more ado, such 
 280
 
 NEUTRIA 
 
 was the childishness of this display. But be- 
 cause it was Chappo and I could feel from his 
 legs that all was not right with him, I meekly 
 ascended the steps and walked into the har, 
 taking heed where I placed my feet. A crowd 
 of loafers cheered me and filled a large bowl, 
 that I might drink, but Chappo would have 
 none of this. 
 
 He sang much on the road back to camp. It 
 was dark as a panther's lair. Chappo would 
 hum and drone a few lines, then relapse into 
 abrupt silences. I kept every sense alert, for 
 his safety depended on me. Once, when he 
 sagged in the saddle, I stopped until he got 
 settled again. After that he rode with firmer 
 seat, but his good humor seemed to have van- 
 ished. We reached a point where a cow trail, 
 a mere thread so faint that it was barely dis- 
 cernible, led off from the main trail. 
 
 "Here, you," Chappo said, jerking me 
 about, "who's running this show? Hey? 
 Doggone your fat haid. This is a cut-off." 
 281
 
 THE UNTAMED 
 
 The trail was new to me, but I took it obe- 
 diently. It led in the general direction of 
 camp, but became vaguer as we proceeded. 
 Finally it merged into the brown of a hillside. 
 
 "Hell!" Chappo exclaimed. "Where's that 
 cussed trail gone to, Neutria? Well, let's hit 
 across country, boy. What's twenty miles be- 
 tween two of us?" 
 
 We struck over a hill at a trot. Suddenly 
 my heart gave a leap and every hair on my 
 body seemed to tingle. Just in time I sat back 
 on my haunches. Chappo swore and struck 
 me sharply with the spur. 
 
 "What's the matter with you, you oF rascal? 
 I swan. . . . Seen a skunk?" he cried. 
 
 I began to shiver, and that sobered him. It 
 was too dark to make out anything and he 
 lighted a match. A gulf yawned beneath 
 us, where the hill dropped away to a jum- 
 ble of rocks. Chappo sucked in his breath 
 and let the match fall. Then he turned me 
 around. 
 
 282
 
 NEUTRIA 
 
 "Neutria," was all he said, but let his hand 
 rest for a long minute on my withers. 
 
 We were following the Gap trail on a day in 
 late autumn when, in rounding a bend, we al- 
 most collided with a rider. 
 
 "Hel-lo," came in surprised accents. It was 
 Sloan, on his sorrel. 
 
 "Howdy," Chappo said. "Nice and cool, 
 ain't it?" 
 
 "Whose boss is that?" 
 
 "He's my horse. Finest cowhorse in these 
 here mountains." Chappo would often boast 
 thus. It was unwise, but it made me very 
 proud nevertheless. 
 
 "Huh-huh. And who might you be?" 
 
 "The Emp'ror of Rooshia." 
 
 "Sure. You might be, but you ain't. You 
 got papers for this here boss?" 
 
 "No, I ain't got no papers for him. Don't 
 you see the Box C on him? That's papers 
 enough." Chappo was careless and bold, but 
 I knew he was anxious. 
 283
 
 THE UNTAMED 
 
 "You got to have papers in Mexico. That's 
 my hoss, son." 
 
 "Yes?" said Chappo. "Where's your pa- 
 pers, then?" 
 
 "I kin prove he's mine," Sloan said evenly. 
 "I'll be obliged for that hoss, pardner." 
 
 My master thought a moment. "What's 
 your name?" he asked. 
 
 "Sloan." 
 
 "Yes? I've heard of you, Sloan. The 
 company knows you, too. There ain't no use 
 in gitting mad. Let's talk business." 
 
 "All right, son. But that's my hoss and 
 I'll be obliged for him." 
 
 "Sloan, I'm going to tell you about Neutria 
 here. I caught him with a bunch of bronchos. 
 He was a maverick, so I done put my brand 
 on him. What'll you take for him?" 
 
 "I won't take nothing." I recognized that 
 surly bass growl. He had been drinking. 
 
 "I'll tell you what I'll do. To save trouble, 
 I'll buy him off'n you. Me and him is friends. 
 284
 
 NEUTRIA 
 
 So I'll give you seventy-five dollars gold for 
 this here liT horse. That's a good price, 
 Sloan. I'll raise the money in a week." 
 
 "No, you won't, young feller. You won't 
 give me seventy-five dollars, nor you won't 
 give me seventy-five thousand dollars. That's 
 my hoss. I won't sell him. Him and me's 
 got a liT account to square up, and " 
 
 "Then it's up to you to prove he's yours," 
 Chappo answered. I scarcely knew his voice, 
 it had gone so hard and cold. 
 
 "You don't believe this hoss is mine?" 
 "Not me. You rustle calves, Sloan, and " 
 "I love a thief," Sloan said, "but I hate a 
 liar." 
 
 What happened then was beyond my powers 
 of perception. I felt Chappo reach to his hip. 
 There was a flash that singed my face, and 
 Sloan sat his sorrel with a smoking six-shooter 
 in his hand. My master tumbled sideways, 
 twisting the saddle as he fell, and struck the 
 ground on his shoulders. 
 285
 
 THE UNTAMED 
 
 "Don't shoot, Sloan," he begged, "I ain't 
 got my gun. You've done for me anyway. 
 Don't." 
 
 But Sloan slued his horse that he might ob- 
 tain a clear shot, and pulled twice on him with 
 deliberate aim. 
 
 "Now," he cried clutching my reins, "now 
 I'll settle with you." 
 
 I reared straight up and plunged forward at 
 him. The headstall snapped and the bit 
 dropped from my mouth. With the smack of 
 my shod hoofs on his flank, the sorrel began to 
 pitch, and Sloan dropped his gun. 
 
 With that I ran ran as I had never run be- 
 fore in my life. When utterly worn out, I 
 slowed to a walk and endeavored to rid myself 
 of the saddle, which galled me badly. For a 
 long time it resisted every effort, but I did not 
 despair. Chappo's fall had turned it under- 
 neath my belly and there it was in reach of my 
 hind feet. Before dawn I had kicked and torn 
 the thing from my sides, and was free and un- 
 encumbered. 
 
 286
 
 NEUTRIA 
 
 Why tell of my frantic wanderings during 
 the next two days ? The spot where my master 
 had fallen drew me irresistibly. I could not 
 leave ; but I feared Sloan more than ever and 
 spent the hours in cautious circlings of the vi- 
 cinity of the Gap. At last I could bear it no 
 longer. 
 
 The moon was shining as I lightly trod the 
 Gap trail. Going warily as a coyote, I was 
 brought to a standstill by a strong taint. I 
 sniffed and was fearfully expectant, but still 
 advanced. Something was swinging from 
 the lowest limb of an elm. A rope creaked 
 mournfully to the swinging. I snorted and 
 made a circuit of the thing, approaching gin- 
 gerly. A gust of wind turned the object, so 
 that the moon lighted its every line. 
 
 It was Sloan. 
 
 A hundred yards beyond, I came on a small 
 pile of rocks. They had laid Chappo where 
 he fell. Above the rocks was a rude cross, 
 fashioned of mesquite boughs. 
 
 I am a free rover now. Sometimes I run 
 287
 
 THE UNTAMED 
 
 with the wild horses. Again I go off for soli- 
 tary pilgrimages into the mountain fastnesses. 
 Often I steal back at night to the Gap trail. 
 And there, beside the pile of stones and the 
 cross, I whinny whinny again. But Chappo 
 never answers. 
 
 THE END 
 
 288
 
 UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY 
 
 Los Angeles 
 This book is DUE on the last date stamped below. 
 
 L9-Series 444
 
 791 
 
 P27u 
 
 1911 
 
 000870292