At One Corner
Of The Corral Was A Small, Funnel-Shaped "Drive," The Outer Opening Of
Which Was Just Large
Enough to squeeze a sheep through, and in the
drive stood a man, sheep in hand, ever ready to rush
It straight to
the hands of the shearer the instant he was ready for it.
The shearer, who was quite a young man, sat upon a box close to the
drive, and when he received a sheep it was always the same
way - between his knees - and he commenced and finished the shearing of
each animal exactly the same way, every clip of the large shears
counting to the best advantage. They told me that he gained much time
by the unvarying precision that left no ragged strips to be trimmed
off. The docility of those wild sheep was astonishing. Almost while
the last clip was being made the sheep was seized by a second
assistant standing at the shearer's left, who at once threw the poor
thing down on its side, where he quickly painted the brand of that
particular ranch, after which it was given its freedom. It was most
laughable to see the change in the sheep - most of them looking lean
and lanky, whereas in less than one short minute before, their sides
had been broad and woolly. A third man to wait upon the shearer was
kept busy at his right carefully gathering the wool and stuffing it in
huge sacks. Every effort was made to keep it clean, and every tiny bit
was saved.
About four o'clock we reached Rock Creek, where we remained overnight
at a little inn. The house is built of logs, and the architecture is
about as queer as its owner. Mrs. Gates, wife of the proprietor, can
be, and usually is, very cross and disagreeable, and I rather dreaded
stopping there alone. But she met me pleasantly - that is, she did not
snap my head off - so I gathered courage to ask for a room that would
be near some one, as I was timid at night. That settled my standing in
her opinion, and with a "Humph!" she led the way across a hall and
through a large room where there were several beds, and opening a door
on the farther side that led to still another room, she told me I
could have that, adding that I "needn't be scared to death, as the
boys will sleep right there." I asked her how old the boys were, and
she snapped, "How old! why they's men folks," and out of the room she
went. Upon looking around I saw that my one door opened into the next
room, and that as soon as the "boys" occupied it I would be virtually
a prisoner. To be sure, the windows were not far from the ground, and
I could easily jump out, but to jump in again would require longer
arms and legs than I possessed. But just then I felt that I would much
prefer to encounter robbers, mountain lions, any gentle creatures of
that kind, to asking Mrs. Gates for another room.
When I went out to supper that night I was given a seat at one end of
a long table where were already sitting nine men, including my own
civilian driver, who, fortunately, was near the end farthest from me.
No one paid the slightest attention to me, each man attending to his
own hungry self and trying to outdo the others in talking. Finally
they commenced telling marvelous tales about horses that they had
ridden and subdued, and I said to myself that I had been told all
about sheep that day, and there it was about horses, and I wondered
how far I would have to go to hear all sorts of things about cattle!
But anything about a horse is always of interest to me, and those men
were particularly entertaining, as it was evident that most of them
were professional trainers.
There was sitting at the farther end of the table a rather
young-looking man, who had been less talkative than the others, but
who after a while said something about a horse at the fort. The
mentioning of the post was startling, and I listened to hear what
further he had to say. And he continued, "Yes, you fellers can say
what yer dern please about yer broncos, but that little horse can
corral any dern piece of horseflesh yer can show up. A lady rides him,
and I guess I'd put her up with the horse. The boys over there say
that she broke the horse herself, and I say! you fellers orter see her
make him go - and he likes it, too."
By the time the man stopped talking, my excitement was great, for I
was positive that he had been speaking of Rollo, although no mention
had been made of the horse's color or gait. So I asked what gait the
horse had. He and two or three of the other men looked at me with pity
in their eyes - actual pity - that plainly said, "Poor thing - what can
you know about gaits"; but he answered civilly, "Well, lady, he is
what we call a square pacer," and having done his duty he turned again
to his friends, as though they only could understand him, and said,
"No cow swing about that horse. He is a light sorrel and has the very
handsomest mane yer ever did see - it waves, too, and I guess the lady
curls it - but don't know for sure."
The situation was most unusual and in some ways most embarrassing,
also. Those nine men were rough and unkempt, but they were splendid
horsemen - that I knew intuitively - and to have one of their number
select my very own horse above all others to speak of with unstinted
praise, was something to be proud of, but to have my own self calmly
and complacently disposed of with the horse - "put up," in fact - was
quite another thing.
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