Chapter VIII. A Cat Hunt on the Frio

by Andy Adams

　　The return of Miss Jean the next forenoon, accompanied by Frances Vaux,was an occasion of more than ordinary moment at Las Palomas. The Vauxfamily were of creole extraction, but had settled on the Frio Rivernearly a generation before. Under the climatic change, from the swampsof Louisiana to the mesas of Texas, the girls grew up fine physicalspecimens of rustic Southern beauty. To a close observer, certain tracesof the French were distinctly discernible in Miss Frances, notably inthe large, lustrous eyes, the swarthy complexion, and early maturity ofwomanhood. Small wonder then that our guest should have played havocamong the young men of the countryside, adding to her train of gallantsthe devoted Quayle and Cotton of Las Palomas.Aside from her charming personality, that Miss Vaux should receive acordial welcome at Las Palomas goes without saying, since there weremany reasons why she should. The old ranchero and his sister chaperonedthe young lady, while I, betrothed to another, became her most obedientslave. It is needless to add that there was a fair field and no favorshown by her hosts, as between John and Theodore. The prize was worthyof any effort. The best man was welcome to win, while the blessings ofmaster and mistress seemed impatient to descend on the favored one.In the work in hand, I was forced to act as a rival to my friends, forI could not afford to lower my reputation for horsemanship before MissFrances, when my betrothed was shortly to be her guest. So it was notto be wondered at that Quayle and Cotton should abandon the medeno inmounting their unbroken geldings, and I had to follow suit or sufferby comparison. The other rascals, equal if not superior to our trio inhorsemanship, including Enrique, born with just sense enough to be afearless vaquero, took to the heavy sand in mounting vicious geldings;but we three jauntily gave the wildest horses their heads and evenencouraged them to buck whenever our guest was sighted on the gallery.What gave special vim to our work was the fact that Miss Frances was ahorsewoman herself, and it was with difficulty that she could be keptaway from the corrals. Several times a day our guest prevailed on UncleLance to take her out to witness the roping. From a safe vantage placeon the palisades, the old ranchero and his protege would watch uscatching, saddling, and mounting the geldings. Under those bright eyes,lariats encircled the feet of the horse to be ridden deftly indeed, andhe was laid on his side in the sand as daintily as a mother would layher babe in its crib. Outside of the trio, the work of the gang wasbunglesome, calling for many a protest from Uncle Lance,--they had nolady's glance to spur them on,--while ours merited the enthusiasticplaudits of Miss Frances.Then came Sunday and we observed the commandment. Miss Jean had planneda picnic for the day on the river. We excused Tiburcio, and pressed theambulance team into service to convey the party of six for the day'souting among the fine groves of elm that bordered the river in severalplaces, and afforded ample shade from the sun. The day was delightfullyspent. The chaperons were negligent and dilatory. Uncle Lance evenfell asleep for several hours. But when we returned at twilight, theambulance mules were garlanded as if for a wedding party.The next morning our guest was to depart, and to me fell the pleasanttask of acting as her escort. Uncle Lance prevailed on Miss Frances toride a spirited chestnut horse from his mount, while I rode a grullafrom my own. We made an early start, the old ranchero riding with usas far as the river. As he held the hand of Miss Vaux in parting, hecautioned her not to detain me at their ranch, as he had use for me atLas Palomas. "Of course," said he, "I don't mean that you shall hurryhim right off to-day or even to-morrow. But these lazy rascals of minewill hang around a girl a week, if she'll allow it. Had John or Theodoretaken you home, I shouldn't expect to see either of them in a fortnight.Now, if they don't treat you right at home, come back and live with us.I'll adopt you as my daughter. And tell your pa that the first generalrain that falls, I'm coming over with my hounds for a cat hunt with him.Good-by, sweetheart."It was a delightful ride across to the Frio. Mounted on two splendidhorses, we put the Nueces behind us as the hours passed. Frequently wemet large strings of cattle drifting in towards the river for theirdaily drink, and Miss Frances insisted on riding through the cows,noticing every brand as keenly as a vaquero on the lookout for straysfrom her father's ranch. The young calves scampered out of our way, buttheir sedate mothers permitted us to ride near enough to read the brandsas we met and passed. Once we rode a mile out of our way to look at amanada. The stallion met us as we approached as if to challenge allintruders on his domain, but we met him defiantly and he turned asideand permitted us to examine his harem and its frolicsome colts.But when cattle and horses no longer served as a subject, and the wideexpanse of flowery mesa, studded here and there with Spanish daggerswhose creamy flowers nodded to us as we passed, ceased to interest us,we turned to the ever interesting subject of sweethearts. But try as Imight, I could never wring any confession from her which even suggesteda preference among her string of admirers. On the other hand, when shetwitted me about Esther, I proudly plead guilty of a Platonic friendshipwhich some day I hoped would ripen into something more permanent, fullyrealizing that the very first time these two chums met there would be aninterchange of confidences. And in the full knowledge that during thesewhispered admissions the truth would be revealed, I stoutly denied thatEsther and I were even betrothed.But during that morning's ride I made a friend and ally of Frances Vaux.There was some talk of a tournament to be held during the summer atCampbellton on the Atascosa. She promised that she would detain Estherfor it and find a way to send me word, and we would make up a party andattend it together. I had never been present at any of these pastoraltourneys and was hopeful that one would be held within reach of ourranch, for I had heard a great deal about them and was anxious to seeone. But this was only one of several social outings which she outlinedas on her summer programme, to all of which I was cordially invited asa member of her party. There was to be a dance on St. John's Day at theMission, a barbecue in June on the San Miguel, and other local meets forthe summer and early fall. By the time we reached the ranch, I was justbeginning to realize that, socially, Shepherd's Ferry and the Nueces wasa poky place.The next morning I returned to Las Palomas. The horse-breaking wasnearing an end. During the month of May we went into camp on a new tractof land which had been recently acquired, to build a tank on a dryarroyo which crossed this last landed addition to the ranch. It was acommercial peculiarity of Uncle Lance to acquire land but never to partwith it under any consideration. To a certain extent, cows and land hadbecome his religion, and whenever either, adjoining Las Palomas, was forsale, they were looked upon as a safe bank of deposit for any surplusfunds. The last tract thus secured was dry, but by damming the arroyowe could store water in this tank or reservoir to tide over thedry spells. All the Mexican help on the ranch was put to work withwheelbarrows, while six mule teams ploughed, scraped, and hauled rock,one four-mule team being constantly employed in hauling water over tenmiles for camp and stock purposes. This dry stream ran water, whenconditions were favorable, several months in the year, and by buildingthe tank our cattle capacity would be largely increased.One evening, late in the month, when the water wagon returned, Tiburciobrought a request from Miss Jean, asking me to come into the ranch thatnight. Responding to the summons, I was rewarded by finding a letterawaiting me from Frances Vaux, left by a vaquero passing from the Frioto Santa Maria. It was a dainty missive, informing me that Esther washer guest; that the tournament would not take place, but to be sure andcome over on Sunday. Personally the note was satisfactory, but that Iwas to bring any one along was artfully omitted. Being thus forced toread between the lines, on my return to camp the next morning by dawn,without a word of explanation, I submitted the matter to John andTheodore. Uncle Lance, of course, had to know what had called me in tothe ranch, and, taking the letter from Quayle, read it himself."That's plain enough," said he, on the first reading. "John will go withyou Sunday, and if it rains next month, I'll take Theodore with me whenI go over for a cat hunt with old man Pierre. I'll let him act as masterof the horse,--no, of the hounds,--and give him a chance to toot his ownhorn with Frances. Honest, boys, I'm getting disgusted with the whiteelement of Las Palomas. We raise most everything here but white babies.Even Enrique, the rascal, has to live in camp now to hold down hisbreakfast. But you young whites--with the country just full of youngwomen--well, it's certainly discouraging. I do all I can, and Sis helpsa little, but what does it amount to--what are the results? That poemthat Jean reads to us occasionally must be right. I reckon the Caucasianis played out."Before the sun was an hour high, John Cotton and myself rode into theVaux ranch on Sunday morning. The girls gave us a cheerful welcome.While we were breakfasting, several other lads and lasses rode up, andwe were informed that a little picnic for the day had been arranged.As this was to our liking, John and I readily acquiesced, and shortlyafterward a mounted party of about a dozen young folks set out for ahackberry grove, up the river several miles. Lunch baskets were takenalong, but no chaperons. The girls were all dressed in cambric andmuslin and as light in heart as the fabrics and ribbons they flaunted.I was gratified with the boldness of Cotton, as he cantered away withFrances, and with the day before him there was every reason to believethat his cause would he advanced. As to myself, with Esther by my sidethe livelong day, I could not have asked the world to widen an inch.It was midnight when we reached Las Palomas returning. As we rode alongthat night, John confessed to me that Frances was a tantalizing enigma.Up to a certain point, she offered every encouragement, but beyond thatthere seemed to be a dead line over which she allowed no sentiment topass. It was plain to be seen that he was discouraged, but I told him Ihad gone through worse ordeals.Throughout southern Texas and the country tributary to the Nueces River,we always looked for our heaviest rainfall during the month of June.This year in particular, we were anxious to see a regular downpour tostart the arroyo and test our new tank. Besides, we had sold fordelivery in July, twelve hundred beef steers for shipment at Rockport onthe coast. If only a soaking rain would fall, making water plentiful, wecould make the drive in little over a hundred miles, while a dry seasonwould compel; us to follow the river nearly double the distance.We were riding our range thoroughly, locating our fattest beeves, whenone evening as June Deweese and I were on the way back from the Ganso,a regular equinoctial struck us, accompanied by a downpour of rain andhail. Our horses turned their backs to the storm, but we drew slickersover our heads, and defied the elements. Instead of letting up asdarkness set in, the storm seemed to increase in fury and we were forcedto seek shelter. We were at least fifteen miles from the ranch, and itwas simply impossible to force a horse against that sheeting rain.So turning to catch the storm in our backs, we rode for a ranchitabelonging to Las Palomas. By the aid of flashes of lightning and thecourse of the storm, we reached the little ranch and found a haven. Asteady rain fell all night, continuing the next day, but we saddledearly and rode for our new reservoir on the arroyo. Imagine oursurprise on sighting the embankment to see two horsemen ride up from theopposite direction and halt at the dam. Giving rein to our horses andgalloping up, we found they were Uncle Lance and Theodore Quayle. Abovethe dam the arroyo was running like a mill-tail. The water in thereservoir covered several acres and had backed up stream nearly aquarter mile, the deepest point in the tank reaching my saddle skirts.The embankment had settled solidly, holding the gathering water to oursatisfaction, and after several hours' inspection we rode for home.With this splendid rain, Las Palomas ranch took on an air of activity.The old ranchero paced the gallery for hours in great glee, watching thedownpour. It was too soon yet by a week to gather the beeves. But underthe glowing prospect, we could not remain inert. The next morning thesegunao took all the teams and returned to the tank to watch the damand haul rock to rip-rap the flanks of the embankment. Taking extrasaddle horses with us, Uncle Lance, Dan Happersett, Quayle, and myselftook the hounds and struck across for the Frio. On reaching the Vauxranch, as showers were still falling and the underbrush reeking withmoisture, wetting any one to the skin who dared to invade it, we did nothunt that afternoon. Pierre Vaux was enthusiastic over the rain, whilehis daughters were equally so over the prospects of riding to thehounds, there being now nearly forty dogs in the double pack.At the first opportunity, Frances confided to me that Mrs. McLeod hadforbidden Esther visiting them again, since some busybody had carriedthe news of our picnic to her ears. But she promised me that if I coulddirect the hunt on the morrow within a few miles of the McLeod ranch,she would entice my sweetheart out and give me a chance to meet her.There was a roguish look in Miss Frances's eye during this disclosurewhich I was unable to fathom, but I promised during the few days' huntto find some means to direct the chase within striking distance of theranch on the San Miguel.I promptly gave this bit of news in confidence to Uncle Lance, and wastold to lie low and leave matters to him. That evening, amid clouds oftobacco smoke, the two old rancheros discussed the best hunting in thecountry, while we youngsters danced on the gallery to the strains of afiddle. I heard Mr. Vaux narrating a fight with a cougar which killedtwo of his best dogs during the winter just passed, and before weretired it was understood that we would give the haunts of this same oldcougar our first attention.