I had the steer roped for three or four nights and
tied to a tree, and as the stampeding ceased we cut him out every
evening when bedding down the herd, and allowed him to sleep alone.
The poor fellow followed us, never venturing to leave either day or
night, but finally fell into a deep ravine and broke his neck. His
affliction had befallen him on the trail, affecting his nervous system
to such an extent that he would jump from imaginary objects and thus
stampede his brethren. I remember it occurred to me, then, how little
I knew about cattle, and that my wrangler and I ought to exchange
places. Since that day I have always been an attentive listener to the
humblest of my fellowmen when interpreting the secrets of animal life.
Another incident occurred on this trip which showed the observation
and insight of my half-breed wrangler. We were passing through some
cross-timbers one morning in northern Texas, the remuda and wagon far
in the lead. We were holding the herd as compactly as possible to
prevent any straying of cattle, when our saddle horses were noticed
abandoned in thick timber. It was impossible to leave the herd at the
time, but on reaching the nearest opening, about two miles ahead, I
turned and galloped back for fear of losing horses. I counted the
remuda and found them all there, but the wrangler was missing.
Thoughts of desertion flashed through my mind, the situation was
unexplainable, and after calling, shooting, and circling around for
over an hour, I took the remuda in hand and started after the herd,
mentally preparing a lecture in case my wrangler returned.
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