| OCR Text |
Show 119 It was too late in the year to worry about rattlesnakes. Once one of the men had noticed a strange crawling under the quilts of the bunk bed and found a rattlesnake there. I had sliced my thumb quite deeply while whittling shavings, but the blood clotted in the cold and I felt nothing. The scar is still visible. The wagons came about midnight, bearing the most welcome grub box. We were almost too tired to eat, and slept instantly in the heavy, sheetless camp quilts without undressing. Next morning Uncle Will came for breakfast. He had stayed at the Hawley ranch because of sleeping room. He helped me with the cattle the rest of the way, except that now there were fifty or more head of them, additions from the snowy pasture. The wagons took the long way around and we took a short-cut through the mountains. The newcomers were hungry and had to be beaten from bushes along the way. The day wore on and so did our strength and patience. Cattle are obstreperous. You count on them going one way and they are sure to take the opposite direction. High in the mountains we found the remains of an old fence, with only the gateposts standing. Naturally, the cattle disregarded the gate and poured out around the gate-posts. Since it was all one and the same, the direction they were going, I was astonished to hear Uncle Will cussing them for their stupidity. He rounded up every last one and made them go back and pass through the gate. He was a cow-puncher all his life, but I think he literally loathed cattle. The feeling seemed to be mutual, counting the times rebellious milk cows had kicked the bucket upside down on his head. One fleeing |
