Children's Book Classics - Kate Douglas Wiggin Edition: 11 Novels & 120+ Short Stories for Children. Kate Douglas Wiggin

eyes. He thrust his knife between them, but struck the air; and, though he had been standing directly in front of the opening, so that nothing could have passed him, yet he heard the clatter of hoofs and the tinkle of spurs, and, turning, saw a mysterious horseman, whose pale face and streaming hair melted into the mountain mist, as it floated down from the purple Santa Ynez peaks into the lap of the vine-covered foot-hills below.’

Chapter X.

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      ‘And still they watched the flickering of the blaze,

       And talked together of the good old days.’

      ‘Brava!’ ‘Bravissima!’ ‘Splendid, Polly!’ exclaimed the boys. ‘Bell, you’re a great author!’

      ‘Couldn’t have done better myself—give you my word!’ cried Jack, bowing profoundly to Bell and Polly in turn, and presenting them with bouquets of faded leaves hastily gathered from the ground.

      ‘Polly covered herself with glory,’ said the doctor; ‘and I am very proud of your part in it, too, my little daughter. I have some knowledge of Pancho’s capabilities as a narrator, and I think the “Story of Valerio” owes a good deal to you. Now, who comes next? Margery?’

      ‘No, please,’ said Margery, ‘for I have another story. Take one of the boys, and let’s have more facts.’

      ‘Yes, something historic and profound, out of the encyclopædia, from Jack,’ said Polly, saucily.

      ‘Thanks, Miss Oliver. With you for an audience any man might be inspired; but—’

      ‘But not a boy?’

      ‘Mother, dear, remove that child from my sight, or I shall certainly shake her! Phil, go on, just to keep Polly quiet.’

      ‘Very well. Being the oldest Californian present, I—’

      ‘What about Dr. Paul?’ asked the irrepressible Polly.

      ‘He wasn’t born here,’ responded Philip, dryly, ‘and I was.’

      ‘I think that’s a quibble,’ interrupted Bell. ‘Papa was here twenty years before you were.’

      ‘It’s not my fault that he came first,’ answered Philip. ‘Margery and I are not only the oldest Californians present, but the only ones. Isn’t that so, sir?’

      ‘Quite correct.’

      ‘Oh, if you mean that way, I suppose you are; but still papa helped frame the Constitution, and was here on the first Admission Day, and was one of the Vigilantes—and I think that makes him more of a real Californian than you. You’ve just “grown up with the country.”’

      ‘Bless my soul! What else could I do? I would have been glad to frame the Constitution, admit the State, and serve on the Vigilance Committee, if they had only waited for me; but they went straight ahead with the business, and when I was born there was nothing to do but stand round and criticise what they had done, or, as you express it, “grow up with the country.” Well, as I was saying when I was interrupted—’

      ‘Beg pardon.’

      ‘Don’t mention it. Uncle Doc has asked me to tell Mrs. Howard and Elsie how they carried on the rodeos ten or fifteen years ago. Of course I was only a little chap’—(‘Very little,’ murmured his sister)—‘but never too small to stick on a horse, and my father used often to take me along. The rodeos nowadays are neither as great occasions, nor as exciting ones, as they used to be; but this is the way a rodeo is managed. When the spring rains are mostly over, and the grass is fine,—say in April—the ranchero of a certain ranch sends word to all his neighbours that he will hold a rodeo on a certain day or days. Of course the cattle used to stray all over the country, and get badly mixed, as there were no fences; so the rodeo was held for the purpose of separating the cattle and branding the calves that had never been marked.

      ‘The owners of the various ranches assemble the night before, bringing their vaqueros with them. They start out very early in the morning, having had a cup of coffee, and ride to the “rodeo-ground,” which is any flat, convenient place where cañons converge. Many of the cattle on the hills round about know the place, having been there before, and the vaqueros start after them and drive them to the spot.’

      ‘How many vaqueros would there be?’ asked Elsie.

      ‘Oh, nine or ten, perhaps; and often from one thousand to three thousand cattle—it depends on the number of ranches and cattle represented. Some of the vaqueros form a circle round the cattle that they have driven to the rodeo-ground, and hold them there while others go back to the ranch for breakfast and fresh horses.’

      ‘Fresh horses so soon?’ said Mrs. Howard. ‘I thought the mustangs were tough, hardy little beasts, that would go all day without dropping.’

      ‘Yes, so they are; but you always have to begin to “part out” the cattle with the freshest and best-trained horses you have. The owners and their best vaqueros now go into the immense band of cattle, and try to get the cows and the unbranded calves separated from the rest. You can imagine what skilful engineering this takes, even though you never saw it. Two work together; they start a certain cow and calf and work them through the band of cattle until they near the outside, and then “rush” them to a place three or four hundred yards beyond, where other vaqueros are stationed to receive and hold them. Of course the cattle don’t want to leave the band, and of course they don’t want to stay in the spot to which they are driven.’

      ‘I don’t blame them!’ cried Bell impetuously. ‘Probably the cows remember the time when they were branded themselves, and they don’t want their dear little bossies put through the same operation.’

      ‘Very likely. Then more cows and calves are started in the same way; the greatest difficulty being had with the first lot, for the cattle always stay more contentedly together as the group grows larger. Occasionally one “breaks” and runs off on the hills, and a vaquero starts after him, throws the reata and lassos him, or “lass’s” him, as the California boys say.’

      ‘There must be frightful accidents,’ said Mrs. Winship.

      ‘Yes; but not so many as you would suppose, for the horsemanship, in its particular way, is something wonderful. When an ugly steer is lassoed and he feels the reata or lariat round his neck, he sometimes turns and “makes” for the horse, and unless the vaquero is particularly skilful he will be gored and his horse too; but he gives a dexterous turn to the lariat, the animal steps over it, gets tangled and thrown. Frequently an animal breaks a horn or a leg. Sometimes one fall is not enough; the steer jumps up and pursues the horse. Then the vaquero keeps a little ahead of him and leads him back to the rodeo-ground, where another vaquero lassos him by the hind legs and throws him, while the reata is taken off his neck.’

      ‘There is another danger, too,’ added Dr. Winship. ‘The vaquero winds the reata very tightly round the pommel of his saddle to hold the steer, and he is likely to have his finger caught in the hair-rope and cut off.’

      ‘Yes, I forgot that. Two or three of the famous old vaqueros about Santa Barbara—José María, José Antonio, and old Clemente—have each lost a finger. Well, the vaqueros at length form in a circle round the band of selected cattle. The ranch owner who gives the rodeo takes his own cattle that he has found—the ones bearing his brand, you know—and drives them in with the ones to be branded, leaving in the rodeo-ground the cattle bearing the brands of all the other rancheros. There has been much drinking of aguardiente (brandy) and everybody by this time is pretty reckless. Then they drive this selected band to the home corral, the vaqueros yelling, the cattle “calling,” and the reatas whizzing