Great Heart The Life Story of Theodore Roosevelt 5

Great Heart The Life Story of Theodore Roosevelt 5

Then came the hardest and most irksome part of the task--getting the

prisoners safely to jail. After many monotonous days and nights, in

which it was necessary to keep a close guard on the prisoners and

at the same time navigate the river, they came to a cow camp. There

Roosevelt learned that at a ranch fifteen miles off he could hire a

large prairie schooner and two tough broncos for the transportation of

his prisoners to Dickinson, the nearest town. This was done. Sewall

and Dow went back to the boats. Roosevelt put the prisoners in the

wagon along with an old settler, who drove the horses while he walked

behind, ankle-deep in mud, with his Winchester over his shoulder. After

thirty-six hours of sleeplessness the wagon jolted into the main street

of Dickinson, where Roosevelt delivered his prisoners into the hands

of the sheriff, and received, under the laws of Dakota, his fees as a

deputy sheriff, amounting to some fifty dollars.

 

 

 

 

III

 

Broncos and Bears

 

 

Hunting lost broncos was one of the commonest and most irksome of

Roosevelt’s ranch duties. On one occasion, when three horses under his

charge had been running loose for a couple of months and had become as

wild as deer through their stolen liberty, he had to follow at full

speed for fifteen miles, until by exhausting them, he was able to get

them under control and headed toward a corral.

 

At other times he and his men were not so lucky. Two horses had been

missing from the ranch for nearly eighteen months. They were seen by

his men and pursued but the horses of the pursuers became exhausted and

broken before they caught up with the runaways.

 

On another occasion a horse that had been on the Roosevelt ranch

nine months developed a case of homesickness, went off one night and

traveled two hundred miles back to its former roaming grounds, swimming

the Yellowstone to achieve its goal.

 

When Roosevelt was attending one of the recent national political

conventions, up came George Meyer, one of his former ranchmen, with

this tale of Roosevelt’s roundup days on the Little Missouri:

 

“When the Colonel gets into a mix-up like he is in at this convention

the picture comes to me of the time when he and I started to get two

calves across the river. I singled out the meekest looking, grabbed it

up in my arms, held it while I managed to get on my horse, and started

to cross the river. Half way across I turned to see how ‘the boss’ was

getting along.

 

“He had roped his calf and was dragging it toward the river. The calf,

bleating and bouncing, swung round under the horse’s tail. This set the

bronco on a rampage. The river bank was high, but over it he bucked.

I saw ‘the boss’ clutching the reins with one hand and the calf rope

with the other. The sudden tautness of the rope as the horse plunged

into the water hurled the calf into the air, landing him beside ‘the

boss.’ Through the water the horse plunged, and back of bronco and

rider floundered the calf. It arrived on the other shore half strangled

and half drowned, but it was still bleating and bouncing as ‘the boss’

hauled it to the pen.”

 

 

THE BRONCO BUSTER

 

One of the most interesting tasks of the day was the breaking in of a

new horse. The professional bronco-buster who did this was always an

object of admiration to the strenuous Roosevelt. Roosevelt expressed

his respect for these men in unreserved terms. He described their

calling as a most dangerous trade, at which no man can hope to grow

old. His work was infinitely harder than that of the horse-breaker in

the East, because he had to break many horses in a limited time. Horses

were cheap on the plains. Each outfit had a great many, and the pay for

breaking the animals was only $5 or $10.

 

Giving a keener edge to the work of dealing with broncos is the peril

that confronts the ranchmen from vicious horses. One of Roosevelt’s

horses would at times rush at a man open-mouthed like a wolf, ready to

bury his teeth in the ranchman’s flesh if he was not quick enough to

fight him.

 

[Illustration: COPYRIGHT, UNDERWOOD & UNDERWOOD

 

JUST BEFORE ENTERING YELLOWSTONE PARK. JOHN BURROUGHS, THE VETERAN

NATURALIST, IS AT THE PRESIDENT’S RIGHT. SECRETARY LOEB AT HIS LEFT]

 

Once in a while a wild stallion was caught. This sort of animal fears

no beast except the grizzly; yet, Roosevelt stated, he has one master

among animals. That creature is the jackass. A battle between jack and

stallions came under Roosevelt’s observation. Among the animals of

a certain ranch were two great stallions and a jackass. The latter

was scarcely half the size of the stallions. The animals were kept

in separate pens, but one day the horses came together, and a fight

between them ensued. They rolled against the pen of the jackass,

breaking it down. Instantly the jackass with ears laid back and mouth

wide open, sprang at the two horses. The gray horse reared on his hind

legs and struck at his antagonist with his fore feet, but in a second

the jack had grasped the gray by the throat.

 

The stallion made frantic endeavors to drive him off, but the jack kept

his hold. The black stallion now plunged into the scrimmage, attacking

both the gray and the jack alternately, using hoofs and teeth in his

efforts to kill one or the other. The jack responded to the new attack

with increased ferocity, and would doubtless have killed at least one

of the stallions had not the ranchmen, by desperate efforts, separated

the maddened brutes.

 

Roosevelt, on his first roundup, had enough experiences with wild

broncos to satisfy the most hardened rough rider. It was impossible

to bridle or saddle single-handed one of his horses. Another was one

of the worst buckers on the ranch. Once it bucked Roosevelt off,

resulting in a fall that broke a rib. Another would balk and then

throw himself over backward. Roosevelt was once caught under him, and

suffered as a result a broken shoulder.

 

Roosevelt welcomed roundup work as a relief to the monotony of the

daily tasks on the ranch. The spring roundup was the big event of the

season. The bulk of calves were to be branded then. Out-of-the-way

parts of the country where cattle were supposed to have wandered had

to be searched, so that the roundup usually extended for six or seven

weeks, with no rest for the herders.

 

First the captain of the roundup was chosen. His qualifications were an

ability to command and control the wild rough riders who served under

him. The rendezvous was set, and from each ranch a cowboy rode out to

meet at this common starting place. A four-horse wagon carried the

bedding and food. The teamster acted as cook and was first-rate at both

jobs. A dozen cow-punchers accompanied the wagon. Then, to take charge

of the horses, there were two horse-rangers.

 

When the meeting place was reached, several days elapsed in making

arrangements for the roundup. The time was passed in racing,

breaking rough horses or in skylarking. Horse-racing was a mania with

the cow-punchers, both whites and Indians. The horses were ridden

bareback. Intense excitement preceded the race, and where the horses

participating were well enough known to have partisans there generally

arose quarrels between the two sides.

 

The races were short-distance dashes. Down between two thick rows of

spectators, some on foot and some on horseback, the riders passed. Some

of the lookers-on yelled and shouted encouragement at the top of their

lungs. Some fired off their revolvers. All waved their hats and cloaks

in encouragement. Naturally, the excitement made both horses and riders

frantically eager to win, and when the goal was reached they were

exhausted with nervous excitement.

 

The most exciting and dangerous part of the roundup comes when the

cattle are stampeded by a storm or through fright. Anything may start

them--the plunge of a horse, the approach of a coyote, the arrival of

new steers or cows. In an instant the herd rises to its feet and rushes

off. Then the work of the cowboys is cut out for them. No matter how

rough the ground or how black the night, the cow-punchers must ride

without sparing themselves to head them off and finally stop them.

Even when stopped there is danger of them breaking again. Sometimes a

man gets caught in the rush of the beasts and is trampled to death.

Roosevelt never experienced this danger, but he knew the very hardest

part of the work. On one occasion he was for thirty-six hours in the

saddle, dismounting only to change horses or to eat.

 

At another time he was helping to bring a thousand head of young cattle

down to his lower range. At night he and a cowboy stood guard. The

cattle had been without water that day, and in their thirst they tried

to break away. In the darkness Roosevelt could dimly see the shadowy

outlines of the frantic herd. With whip and spurs he circled around the

herd, turning back the beasts at one point just in time to wheel and

keep them in at another. After an hour of violent exertion, by which

time he was dripping with sweat, he and his companion finally quieted

the herd.

 

On still another occasion Roosevelt was out on the plains when a

regular blizzard came. The cattle began to drift before the storm. They

were frightened and maddened by the quick, sharp flashes of lightning

and the stinging rain. The men darted to and fro before them and

beside them, heedless of danger, checking them at each point where they

threatened to break through. The thunder was terrific. Peal followed

peal. Each flash of lightning showed a dense array of tossing horns

and staring eyes. At last, however, when the storm was raging in fury,

and when it seemed impossible to hold the herd together any longer,

the corrals were reached, and by desperate efforts Roosevelt and his

companions managed to turn the herds into the barns. It was such work

as this that brought Roosevelt self-reliance and hardihood and made him

in later life a firm advocate of horsemanship.

 

Though Roosevelt’s ranch life yielded him big assets in health and

experience, financially it proved a failure. It is estimated that he

lost $100,000 on the venture. “Bill” Sewall testifies that Roosevelt

shared all gains with Dow and him, who were practically his partners,

but that when the cattle died Roosevelt assumed all losses without a

word of complaint to his comrades.

 

 

THE GRIZZLY’S TRAIL

 

We now enter upon the most adventurous part of Roosevelt’s Western

experiences. Of dash, adventure and excitement he had plenty in his

life as a ranchman, and yet through it all a still greater adventure

called him. About him lay the wilderness. In that wilderness lurked big

game. Roosevelt became a hunter. Something of the perils and hardships

of the wild life he was about to enter upon can best be illustrated by

the story he tells in his book “Ranch Life and the Hunting Trail” of

the experiences of two starving trappers.

 

These two men had entered a valley in the heart of the mountains where

game was so abundant that they decided to pass the winter there. As

winter came on they worked hard at putting up a log cabin, killing

just enough meat for immediate use. Winter set in with tremendous

snowstorms. Game left the valley, abandoning it for their winter

haunts. Starvation stared the trappers in the face. One man had his

dog with him. The other insisted that the dog should be killed for

food. The dog’s owner, who was deeply attached to the animal, refused.

One night the other trapper tried to kill the dog with his knife, but

failed. The scanty supply of flour the partners possessed was now

almost exhausted. Hunger was beginning to intensify their bad feelings.

Neither dared to sleep for fear that the other would kill him.