Walt Coburn

“ Guns popped jubilant greeting to a day that held no hard ride after stray cattle.
Most of them were flat broke. Cotton Eye, the bloated financier, had lost his money and hocked his spurs for a bottle to take along. Then he engaged the bartender in conversation while a confederate stole back the spurs.
Horace gathered his men one, by one, mounted them, and started them out of town. They bucked their horses down the street, emptying their guns at a leaden sky. Behind them was their night’s pleasure. Ahead lay the dread winter.
Buck Bell got his private horse from the barn. ”

“ Buck wore a cap made out of a piece of Hudson’s Bay blanket. He refused the offer of Cotton Eye’s clothes.
With December came real winter—the hardest winter the cowmen in Montana have ever known. The hay was giving out. Buck worked on a snowplow. The cattle in the field grew in number each day. Gaunt flanked, hollow eyed, bawling as they trained at a stubborn walk with the storm.
Gray days. White days. Bitter days. The cattle drifting down into the badlands. Even the big native steers were finding it hard to paw to feed under the crusted snow. ”

“ The sheriff came in, an icy gust of wind and snow following him inside the lamplit, smoke hazed saloon.
Dick Powell was a blunt statured man, husky, reddish of hair, with keen gray eyes and a drooping mustache. A good natured sort of fellow who was rated as a crackerjack cow hand. ”

“ During the days that followed Buck Bell did the work of five men. He chopped wood, cooked, and nursed Cotton Eye, whose fever went down slowly. He rode out each day, gathering poor cows that were too weak to rustle. He hooked up the work team and hauled hay, scattering it in a wide circle outside the corral. He opened the water hole twice a day. He puttered about the cabin, fixing it for the long winter, and forced a cheerfulness into the chatter that he flung at Cotton Eye. ”

“ He tied his saddle horse to the off horse and loaded his bed and grub on the snow plow. Then he scrawled a note and laid it on the rawhide covered table, weighting it with a can of frozen tomatoes.
Closing the door of the log cabin, he picked up the lines and seated himself on the snow plow. As the team got under way, he grinned back over his shoulder.
“So long, cabin. Here goes nothin’.”
Behind him, bawling hungrily, trailed the cattle. Their dumb faith was pinned to the man and his horses.
South into the breaks across the frozen river. The sun was a dim white ball in a dead sky. ”

“ Hollow eyed cattle bawled in the corral. No smoke came from the little log cabin. Filled with grave misgivings, Buck Bell stepped into the cabin. The moan of a man in pain came out of its dark interior. He found Cotton Eye lying fully clothed in bed, his leg broken between the ankle and knee. He had been like that since the day before, he told Buck through set teeth.
“Horse fell on me, comin’ up the river.”
Buck built the fire and made the crippled man as comfortable as possible. Then he took care of the horses and scattered hay for the gaunt cattle. ”

“ When he came back to the cabin, he hid his fears under a careless banter.
“I’ll throw some soup into you, Cotton Eye. And coffee. Now roll over on your back and cuss me while I git this boot cut off. I’ll be as gentle as a cow with her first calf, pardner.”
Those men of the frontier were steady of hand and ingenious of brain. Broken bones and gunshot wounds were not uncommon. ”

“ From one saloon to the next they waddled in the wake of the annoyed sheriff. The crowd had taken on numbers until by the time they reached the Bloody Heart the entire outfit was crowded into the saloon.
Various bartenders had furnished iron-clad alibis for every Circle C man. Powell gave up in disgust and slipped away from the throng, which was growing somewhat boisterous. Horace followed the sheriff out the back door. Twenty-five cowpunchers set about to make the most of the momentous occasion. ”

“ Months of hard work in the saddle and branding corrals without a holiday, long days from the crack of dawn until dark, with two hours night guard for good measure, had starved them for a little fun.
These men belonged to a breed that has no equal. For forty dollars a month and grub they ride mean horses, face death and hunger and thirst and cold and bitter discomforts. They ask no favors, whine out no complaint, taking the good along with the bad. It is all in a day’s work. ”

“ Something hot scalded Buck Bell’s heart as the rider came alongside. Had the sheriff somehow found him out? Buck almost hoped so. But Powell grinned as easy greeting. He was warmly clad in chaps, overshoes and a buffalo coat. The stock of a carbine jutted from his saddle scabbard.
“You look fer all the world like a bull that’s been whipped outa the herd, Bell. Here, see what this’ll do to you.” ”

“ A phantom herd followed by a ghost. It was impossible to believe that so many cattle could have lived, while so many thousands of others had died. Buck’s herd filled the coulees and covered the ridges. The chain harness rattled on the work team that was hooked to a bull hide which held Buck’s bed and two young calves hog tied. ”

“ He had aimed to go back home this winter, wearing store clothes and with coin in his pockets. But Cotton Eye had cleaned him. He crossed over to Long Henry’s and was promptly pulled up to the bar by several celebrants. Buck tossed out a ten dollar bill with the air of a man who scorns money. Somebody was singing “Sam Bass”.
“Sam Bass” is a ballad that extolls the deeds of that notorious Texas outlaw. The old time outlaw has always held a place in the hearts of the cowpunchers. His vices are buried, his virtues, real or imaginary, live on in cowland saga. ”

“ He scraped the thick frost from the window and would sit there, smoking and watching Buck Bell pitch hay sparingly to the starving cattle. When Buck saddled his horse and rode back into the breaks to bring in more stumbling, gaunt steers and cows, Cotton Eye would curse with futile fury at his aching leg.
“Brung in three more o’ Dick Powell’s steers today. Weak as hell. Three-four Circle Diamond cows, another Square steer, one er two Bear Paw Pool strays, and the Widder Brown’s Jersey milk cow. The widder sets a heap o’ store by that cow. ”

“ Can’t let a man lay out in the cold that way. Besides, there was the trains to attend to.
But, as he circled the depot, he saw the sheriff and the train dispatcher talking earnestly inside the lighted telegraph and ticket office. Buck moved away, across to Dick Powell’s place. Nobody took notice of his entrance as he slipped in the back door and dropped into a chair by the stove. Then somebody called the house up for a drink and Buck joined the crowd. He had not been missed.
“How’s things stackin’ up, Buck?” It was old Horace who voiced the question. “Need a little money? ”

“ This hide’ll be plenty hard and we’ll lace it, savvy? Padded with the felt from a man’s hat, she’ll make a cast that’ll be useful and right ornamental, with the hair on the outside. I’m stretchin’ it around this willer pole to make ’er smooth.”
Buck tanned the rest of the hide and made himself moccasins and a coat that was ill fitting but warm enough. He killed a blacktail buck and they feasted on venison. Buck spent his evenings tanning the hide. The rawhide cast, smooth and hard and padded with felt from Buck’s hat, now replaced the willow splints. ”

“ Who among them had stolen that five thousand dollars? Oddly enough, no man blamed the thief. They rather admired his ingenuity. He had made a lucky haul.
“Well, Dick,” said Horace slowly, “whoever done it, must ’a’ been blind drunk. You know every man in the outfit. There ain’t one rotten egg in the bunch. Say, how do you know it wa’n’t some tramp er some stray miner that done it?”
“The depot man heard his spurs jingle, so he says,” growled the sheriff, “just before he got beefed. It was some cow hand. And outside of you boys there ain’t a cowboy in town. ”

“ But a man’s gotta have some kinda excitement around a cow camp, even if it’s playin’ poker with a marked deck. I was ketchin’ on to the markin’s about the time I went broke.”
Cotton Eye was delirious by morning. Buck was forced to tie the man down while he fed and watered the cattle. Because there was only one bed, Buck had made out with the saddle blankets and the sick man’s overcoat. ”

“ The bartender, from force of habit, reached for the sawed off shotgun under the bar.
“Boys,” said the blocky sheriff, his voice heavy with sadness, rather than anger, “there’s a damn’ skunk amongst us tonight. When you boys rode in, I give you the run of the town. ”

“ Buck pulled on the red mittens, mumbling his gratitude.
“How?” The sheriff replied to his question. “Well, it’s thisaway, Bell. I know every man that was in town that night. I know where each man will be workin’ this winter. Horace gimme their names and what camps they’d be at. I wired fer the serial number of them stolen banknotes. When that money begins goin’ into circulation, I’ll nab my man. Er if ary man quits this range, I’ll be follerin’ him. ”

“ No. 3 squealed to a halt to deposit two sleepy traveling drummers. The door of the express car opened. The armed messenger dropped a heavy iron box on the waiting truck alongside the car. The train dispatcher was now signing for the box. The drummers hurried for the Malta House. ”