All we lacked was
about thirty horses, and my ranch hands were anxious to go up the
trail; but after riding the range one day I decided that it would be
a pity to disturb the pastoral serenity of the valley. It was fairly
dotted with my own cattle; month-old calves were playing in groups,
while my horse frequently shied at new-born ones, lying like fawns
in the tall grass. A round-up at that time meant the separation of
mothers from their offspring and injury to cows approaching maternity,
and I decided that no commercial necessity demanded the sacrifice.
Then again it seemed a short-sighted policy to send half-matured
steers to market, when no man could bring the same animals to a full
development as cheaply as I could. Barring contagious diseases, cattle
are the healthiest creatures that walk the earth, and even on an open
range seldom if ever does one voluntarily forsake its birthplace.
I spent two weeks on the ranch and could have stayed the summer
through, for I love cattle. Our lead herd was due on the Kansas state
line early in May, so remaining at the Edwards ranch until the last
possible hour, I took train and reached Wichita, where my active
partner was awaiting me. He had just returned from the Medicine River,
and reported everything serene. He had made arrangements to have the
men attend all the country round-ups within one hundred miles of our
range.
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