Harold Dingit’s Wild Ride

HAROLD DINGIT'S WILD RIDE By David Horatio Morgan [A gripping boy and horse story, showing that one can often turn a bad situation into an advantageous one, and come out winner, by the application of courage, grit, and the ability to see an opportunity. — Editors.] A door creaked open and Harold Dingit, still sleepy-eyed but with a look of determination, emerged from the saddle! shed with a bridle hanging over his shoulder. Day was just breaking and the air was cool and frosty with a fragrance of Spring. He shoved his hands into his overalls pocketsi to his elbows. From beneath a flapping hat peeped out one big brown eye. ; At the corral gate he was stopped by a voice from out of the darkness, "Hello, Kid, where are you going?" "Is that you, Aught? I was going down to the pasture to get a horse. Why?" "Now, see here, Kid; you haven't been to breakfast yet and you're up to something. Out with it." Harold dug the toe of his boot into the dirt. "I don't know that I have to tell you everything!" "No, you don't have to tell me everything, but this is important, for boys around this ranch are not in the habit of getting up before day and wrangling a horse before breakfast unless he is made to. Spit it out 'cause you promised your Ma and Pa you wouldn't do anything without telling me first." Harold hesitated for a second, thinking over his promise, then he said rather lamely, "I saw Lightfoot the other day and she's got a colt." Aught Goodwin did not suppress his laugh and it did not offend the boy, for the big cowman always laughed, except when he was angry, and then he thundered. Once he thundered when a cowboy kicked Harold, and no one who knew ever tried it again. "Well, I'm sure tickled to hear that; but what are you going to do — catch it?" There was a smile behind the question. "Nobody has ever had a hoss around here that's fast enough to get a brand on Lightfoot since she was a colt." There was still determination in the faltering reply; "I — I was going to see where she's watering and feeding and hiding out during the day." "Well now, I can tell you most all that. She's most likely watering at the spring above Rafell tank; she's feeding at night in Sycamore Basin; and where she's hiding out ain't where no cow- puncher has ever found out, unless it's in them red sandstone peaks where a billy goat can't climb. What color is the colt; is it a hoss

HAROLD DINGIT'S WILD RIDE 621 colt?" At this turn in the questioning the boy's square jaws relaxed and the brows lifted. "Yes, a horse colt and the blackest, shiniest little fellow you ever saw. Aught, he's; built just like Fresno. I sure would like to have him." The foreman eyed Harold keenly and he said, "Now see here, Kid, there is* one law that holds good among all young animals and I know it — one wants another to play with him until the other wants to boss, then one's going to get frisky. You might get a rope on that colt all right, but you ain't; big enough yet to bring him in, better leave that job for a grown man. Besides you can't keep up to Lightfoot's dust; and she's the beatenest hoss to hide out what was ever in these mountains." "If I should find where she is hiding out, will you help me rope the colt?" Harold persisted, knowing his big friend's weakness to humor after a scolding; and, also, he knew the foreman's untiring delight to run wild horses. "I sure will, but see here, boy, that mare hasn't a scratch on her in the shape of a brand and she runs somewhat on the Bar Heart's range, and them polecats over there ain't got much truck with us Three Slashers, and if you get caught on their range you might gei hurt." With this admonition the foreman turned in through the gate, leaving Harold to his own decision. Reluctantly the boy hung the bridle on the gate and started to the kitchen for breakfast. He did not want to displease Aught but at the same time he felt confident that the colt could be caught, and if once gotten into the corral the breaking would be easy — he would train and break it before it became vicious!. He reasoned, that with the inherited swiftness and wildness of its mother Lightfoot, the fire and blood of its sire Fresno, if it were left running wild upon the range for three years, the little black would rather die than submit to the rough breaking by the cowboys. In all rights Lightfoot and her colt belonged to the Three Slash ranch, for she had been taken by Aught Goodwin when she was a young colt herself, but she had not been branded. Now she ran as much on the Bar Heart range as on that of the Three Slash, and it remained only a question of time until some one would be able to brand her and she would thus become1 the property of her captor. As the boy walked back to the! house there flashed to his mind the words of a motto which hung upon the rough board walls of his bunk room; "All things come to him who goes after the thing the other fellow is waiting for." This was a clinching argument in favor of Harold's desire to possess the colt and he resolved to try. Stopping suddenly in the half light of the early morning as if he had met the idea there face to face in the trail, he said. "Now if I wait I won't get a look in, but

622 IMPROVEMENT ERA if I go after that colt and get, him, won't it be just like that motto says, and I just bet I win!'' After breakfast, facing the danger of being caught on the Bar Heart range, Harold went to the corral — he would find where Light- foot was hiding out and then later Aught would help catch the colt. He slipped the bridle over Big Blue's head and throwing a coiled wild-horse lariat over the horn of the saddle climbed up. Down the steep bank into the river he rode and splashed through the cold water. He took the little trail through the sand flats and into Salt Ground canyon; climbed the side of the mountains and disappeared among the cedars to the east. The sun was not an hour high when Harold dismounted and concealed his horse among the rocks and trees in the edge of Sycamore Basin. It was a rough and wild section of the mountains and seldom visited by the cowpunchers. Harold cautiously exposed only a part of his head, so anxious was he to catch Lightfoot unaware and feeding. Long minutes he lay on his stomach without moving, staring at the picture he saw. Not more than one hundred paces away was the mare with her baby colt dancing and frolicking about. It reared upon its tiny heels shaking its pretty black head, and lunged forward kicking high in the air from side to side. Lightfoot raised her head anxiously, pricking her delicate ears and sniffed the air nervously. She kept grazing nearer and nearer the rocks. "She is getting ready to leave," Harold thought half aloud. "I hope she doesn't scent me." From the far end of the valley came a shrill whinny of alarm, and Harold saw the great stallion Fresno, a flame in the sunshine, his proud neck arched high and defiant. Lightfoot jumped, startled, pranced about looking in every direction, the colt trotting at her side. There was a clattering of hoofs in the rocks among the cedars on the opposite side of the meadow, drowned by the blood-curdling cries of a score of cowboys. The riders came hemming in swinging their lariats. Lightfoot started straight for the opening where Harold lay — no riders- were in sight here. But this was all a trick for im- mediately the brush crashed just to Harold's left and Big Sid of the Bar Heart ranch plunged down upon the colt, swinging a noose for which he was famed never to miss in throwing. Harold's hope vanished of ever getting the little black and he bit his lips in resignation of his- loss, but he was game. He had no time to think, for Lightfoot was plunging straight ahead and would trample him to death in the rocks if he did not get out of her way. Big Sid was not more than fifty feet away, he meant to catch the colt, a few feet more and he would let fly the loop. The boy sprang

HAROLD DINGIT'S WILD RIDE 623 up to save himself; Lightfoot saw him and the rope and ducked in between her baby and the rider, and was gone. Big Sid saw what he supposed had turned the mare and thought it had been done intentionally. Still swinging his rope he rode up. An angry gleam shone in his eyes as he recognized a Three Slasher. "I'll catch something!" he roared, and let fly the loop, taking Harold off his feet and throwing him upon the ground. "Come ear mark this varmint from the Three Slash," he roared again. "He made me miss my throw. Under bit to the left and crop to the right. Put a Bar Heart on him so as to show he's been or our range." He bellowed this out, but with a significant wink as the other riders came up. "Who you got, Sid?" asked a big tall cowboy in angora chaps; riding up and squinting down. "He's that dogy kid what's an orphan over on the Three Slash. He's Aught Goodwin's pet; and I reckon- he's got him broke plumb gentle now, riding on our range, trying to steal our colts'. Shorty, you just ,get down and put thei Bar Heart ear mark on him. Maybe Goodwin won't claim him when he sees him with our ear mark on," he said this with a malicious grin, intending to frighten Harold into giving up some range secret. A bow-legged cowpuncher with a red face slid down from the back of a big roan with monkey-like agility. Taking a huge knife from the pocket of his flapping chaps so that the boy could see it, he waddled stiff-kneed over to where Harold lay helpless upon his back. There was apparently no mercy in the fellow's eyes — he pre- tended to put into execution what he had been ordered to do, and he sat about it as if the boy were nothing more than a calf. He set one spurred boot upon Harold's neck, stooped over and took one ear between his fingers. "Wait there, pardner!" yelled the man with angora chaps; inter- fering at the proper time to appear as Harold's protector, "Give the kid a chance to talk for himself, maybe he knows something." No amount of threatening, however, could make Harold talk, and Big Sid said, "This here Squeezicks ain't going to say nothing. He's a Three Slasher; tie him on a hoss and run him home." Further speech was interrupted by the fierce challenge of Fresno, a Three Slash horse, as he came drumming across the Basin, attracted by the other horses. Two cowpunchers rode out and covered the pass behind an ambush, where they easily roped the stallion as he came thundering through. Big Sid turned to Harold and said, "What are you now, Kid, a Three Slasher or a Bar Heart man?" He knew the answer he would get before he asked the question, but it gave him an excuse for sending the boy home lashed on the back of Fresno. Also here was a way of

624 IMPROVEMENT ERA showing his unfriendliness to a rival, and with no particular danger of bringing the law down upon himself. The cowboy took his foot off Harold's neck and gave him a chance to say, "You can't fool me, you big duffers, I wouldn't be a Bar Heart puncher for all the cattle and horses on yourf range." He tried to get up but the rope pinned him down and held him fast. He knew1 it was best to say little and take whatever prank they put upon him without a struggle, but it angered! him and he threatened them, "If you tie me on that horse, Aught Goodwin will), get you." The boy's threat satisfied Big Sid that this would be the best way to strike at Goodwin and he called out, "Bring up that horse; we'll tie this varmint on and drive him back to his keeper." Fresno was led up, pawing and nickering, impatient to follow Lightfoot and the other mares of his herd. He was not a wild stallion for he had been raised upon the Three Slash ranch and broken to the saddle before he had been turned out to become a leader of a band. Being broken he could be driven to the ranch without much difficulty and would1 lead his whole herd into the corral where such young horses were taken as were fitted for breaking. Harold knew that Aught Goodwin had almost completed the horse round-up on the Three Slash range and was now somewhere in the vicinity of Sycamore Basin, but Fresno had not been seen, neither had Lightfoot. It was the custom that all the horses ranging in the mountains on the north side of the river were run into a deep canyon where they were herded until the last day of the gather before they were driven into corrata at the ranch. Big Sid) knew this custom, too, and fearing Lightfoot and the little black might be captured he bad planned her taking in Sycamore Basin, but she had escaped him and now he wished to avenge himself upon Harold, by sending him bound into Aught Goodwin's camp or back to the ranch. Big Sid commanded, "Throw this new model cowpuncher up there now," loosening his rope several other men caught hold of the boy and raised him up on Fresno's back. "You better let me go!" Harold threatened. "If you hurt me or Fresno, Aught will clean up on the whole bunch of you!" At the same time he gave a vigorous kick with one foot. The short- legged puncher was just high enough to stop the blow with his head and he sat down ungracefully in a cactus, howling with the pain. "You better cut that out!" cautioned the tall cowboy, "Or you will get your ears split yet." But the yelping puncher was too busy carefully pulling cactus spines to add anything more to the wild escapade of his companions. Harold was placed up on some saddle padding; his> hands were felt free. His feet were pulled down and bound together under the horse. Sid inspected the knots, and taking from his pocket a piece of chalk, wrote on the boy's chaps, "Caught stealing horses on the

HAROLD DINGIT'S WILD RIDE 625 Bar Heart range," saying with a sneer, "I'm sending a message to your keeper, kid, and I hope he gets it." A chorus of laughs went up at the joke, and Yavapai Red, a tall, sunburned man said, "Sid, the paper you write your note on ain't worth the words, but if you hurry this express pony along maybe Goodwin' 11 get it before it fades," and he read the message aloud. It" was more than Harold could stand, "It's a lie!" he shrieked. "Sycamore Basin is no more on your range than 'tis on ours, and that mare belongs to us though she has never been branded." "How you do chatter," broke in the youngest puncher. "Cut it out," yelled a big fellow. "I've no stomach for this child's play. Start the band, Sid, and let's get gone." Fresno was led to the edge of the cedars and set free. The cowboys began to shout and make a great noise to frighten the stallion, but he was fearless. At first he trotted along easily, sniffing the ground, and throwing his fine muzzle high in the air, whinnying shrilly. Harold gripped the horse's mane and took note of the direction. The cowpunchers being unable to frighten the horse by their shouts, rode up along side and) began to lash him with the knotted ends of their lariats. The lashings enraged the stallion and laying back his ears half turned to fight, but taking another course, he began to increase his speed and like some mighty machine tore recklessly through the cedars, losing his tormentors upon the trail. Fainter and fainter be- came the shouts of the cowboys until Fresno's breathing filled the void. Mile after mile the great stallion ran, heedless of his burden or the projecting branches. Harold was scratched in a myriad of places. He tried to quiet the horse and slow him down with coaxings and commands but it was useless, for the stallion would entertain only the idea of overtaking his fleeing herd. "When he overtakes the horses then maybe I can make him drive Lightfoot to the ranch or into Aught's round-up herd," Harold reasoned hopefully. At last, Fresno silowed down to a walk and stopped. For a long time he listened until his breathing came freer, always turning his head) from one side to the other to catch the faintest sound. He whinnied long and shrill, sniffed the ground and walked slowly on, his heaving flanks flecked with lather. Constantly he scented the trail, but continued to walk, satisfied now that he was not far behind his mates. Harold wondered where he would be borne before he would be able to turn Fresno's head toward the ranch. He could tell some- thing of the direction and thought he knew the place. But his temples throbbed, he ached and was sore. There seemed to be no

626 IMPROVEMENT ERA rescue outside of Aught's camp or the ranch. Where would Fresno take him; how long could he hold out? Then the horse stopped suddenly and there floated upon the air just the least perceptible note of a far off whinny, but the horse was the first to detect the mate call, although it sounded miles and miles away, somewhere to the south, but the boy knew not where. For a moment Fresno stood rigid, listening, his keen ear measuring distance and direction. Then like a mighty bellows, his great chest heaved and trembled and Harold marveled. The muzzle flew up, the nostrils quivered, a ringing blast went out to the south in answer to the far away call, sending assurance across the rocky canyons and down the wooded slopes. Harold's breast swelled with admiration and hope — Fresno would find Lightfoot and then — . With a bound the great horse tore into a run. After several miles, through the brush, over rocks and fallen trees Fresno slowed down whinnying viciously and striking the ground with his forefeet in rage — he had overtaken his herd, and was fretted because his mates h2d forsaken him. Harold tried to see Lightfoot and the little black. He could hear the other horses running all about, but they were scattered through the brush. He could/ see only a few of them. Then the boy knew from Fresno's actions that the mares were trying to scatter again and get away — they had scented a human being or seen a rider upon their lord's back. Now it comes time for head work Harold told himself, and passing a low limb he broke a switch which he used to guide Fresno from side to side by tapping him upon the cheek. Around and around the horse circled, driving the stray ones into a trail. "Go to it, old boy!" Harold encouraged, "I know where we are — we can't be more than a mile from Aught's camp," and he crowded the horse more to the right. "I sure hope Lightfoot' s in the bunch." Harold had difficulty in driving the stallionT for he was mad, he tore and bit the unruly mares, sending the whole band like the wind down a long ridge. At a sharp bend Harold looked down ahead, and his heart thrilled for there was the long string of horses trotting and leaping over the rocks in the narrow trail; and there, too, in the lead, was Lightfoot and at her heels trotted the little black. The boy suddenly became tired, he was making a wonderful fight but would he win? That last mile seemed like a million; would Fresno's band go peaceably into the round-up herd as horses do from instinct? Harold closed his eyes to try to rest and to think. When he looked up again he saw far down the slope a great bunch of Aught's round-up horses; he saw the perpendicular walls of rock, the natural corral. Then he saw the cowboys steal quickly out on their horses to help him. He

HAROLD DINGIT'S WILD RIDE 627 urged Fresno on, making him drive his band into Hell's canyon, into Wild Horse trap, into Aught Goodwin's hold-up bunch of the round- up, and Harold smiled in spite of his fatigue, "I did win." Claremont, Calif. A Mother's Worth Boy, love and cherish Mother, And learn to know her worth. To you there's no such other Who graces this fair earth. Your welfare is her pleasure; For you she bore death's pain, And for her boy, her treasure, She'd sink near death again. You can't afford to slight her; Don't ever wear a frown, But make each day seem brighter By living anger down. Yes! make her life a heaven, Tell her you know her worth, For God to you has given In her, the best on earth. Los Angeles. Her value you'll know never While God wills she should stay, But when death those bonds sever New thoughts will come your way. 'Tis then you'll know your Mother, The dearest soul on earth, Has loved you as no other. Then, boy, you'll know her worth. Then while your mother lingers, Don't fail to give her flowers, That speak your whole soul's giving, 'Twill cheer her clouded hours. Let heart to heart be blended; Yes! love her as no other. For when her life is ended, Your friend, you'll find, was Mother. O. F. URSENBACH. Motherhood A baby fair, A jewel rare, Asleep beside its mother. Her face ashine With light divine Uneaualed by another. A fairy charm All pink and warm Brings joy and love and laughter, For mother dear A comfort here To have forever after. Mt. Pleasant, Utah The ties that bind, The hearts entwined Are held by this wee treasure. With sweet content Those hearts are bent To make its life a pleasure. O, Motherhood! The great, the good, Will sing thy praises ever. Thy suffering hours, Thy mystic powers, Will be forgotten — never. Alberta L. Jacobs