Black King

Black King By Mrs. E. T. Garner A lone rider jogged out of the high pass on Green Mountain, heading steadily west- ward. He looked closely at the trail and patted his horse's neck. "No cattle have been on this trail, Bay boy, so I guess we've got them all back where they belong." Looking to the south, he saw a small grove of trees, and bubbling in their midst was a clear mountain spring. He turned Bay toward the spring and gave a sigh of relief. He needed a little rest; and Bay needed a drink and some of the grass sur- rounding the spring. He dismounted, loosened the cinch, and took off the bridle. "There, old top, have a drink and help yourself to the grass, while I look over the country from that cliff." Leaving Bay to graze, he started for the cliff. He wasn't positive about having all the cattle back inside his own fence line. He climbed steadily upward for several hundred yards and emerged on the summit of the surrounding hills. Looking south, he could see his own grazing land dotted with cattle here and there. Some distance to the southwest were great trees surround- ing the ranch buildings; still farther on the Bar-X ranch and part of the range. Straight west lay the small town of Komer; and beyond, as far as could be seen clearly, were rolling hills of grazing land. Far to the north arose a high range of mountains, leading back to where he stood. "Guess I got them all back, all right: but I wasn't sure," he said to himself. "Now for home." He was soon at the spring and, after taking a refreshing drink of the cold. crystal water, he bridled Bay, tightened the cinch, mounted and started down the trail for home. Leaning forward in the saddle, he urged his horse into a long, swinging gallop. The ease with which he rode was evidence of long days spent in the saddle. He seemed to be a part of the horse itself, taking every turn and twist of the trail in perfect har- mony. Bay was a splendid saddle horse, from the white snip on his nose to the end of his fine, flowing tail. His long, sloping shoulders and short back, rounding hips, and deep, wide chest, gave evidence of good breeding. Splendid as Bay was. his rider was more perfect: his shoulders broad and straight:

300 IMPROVEMENT ERA his well-proportioned head sat squarely on his shoulders, covered with dark, wavy hair. His face beamed with the energy and happiness of youth. He was1, indeed, physically strong. He could have been a splendid football player. "Bay, old boy, we are later in getting home than we .should be; but we had to mend that break in the fence and turn some of the escaped cattle back. Now we must hurry, for mother will fie waiting to go to that wedding feast at the Bar-X. He had left home early that morning to ride the north fence line, expecting to be back by noon, but the broken fence and straying cattle had delayed him. Thinking of his mother at home, his mind wandered back to hisi father's death, nearly three years before. Typhoid fever had taken his father, leaving his mother, and sister, May, age fourteen, and himself, eighteen year old. Mr. Bowen left little money, but a fine cattle ranch with several hundred cattle and no debts. Since then, Ronald has been foreman, with his mother as "chief adviser." She wanted him to hire a good man to help, but Ronald wanted to cut down expenses so that his sister, May, could attend high school that winter; hence, he was doing all the work he could, alone. "We will have to hire a little help at round-up time," he told his mother, "but, until then, I think I can get along O. K." So the extra man wasn't hired. On reaching home, May met him at the gate. "Ronald Bowen, where have you been? Hurry, now, or we'll be late; you don't want folks saying we are always behind like a 'cow's tail,' do you?" He soon cared for Bay and was telling his mother the cause of the delay. "So, you see, I did the right thing by riding the north fence line this morning, even if we are a little late for the feast at the Bar-X," he said. "I know, Ronald," his mother said, "but you must not work too long or hard; you are still young, and must take care of yourself." Ronald placed his arm about his moth- er's shoulders and, looking into her troubled eyes, said, "My first care is al- ways for you, mother. Now let's be off." The wedding feast at the Bar-X was in honor of Mr. Child's daughter; and a stylish affair it was. The company had enjoyed the feast, had exchanged expe- riences, and stories, and were about to re- turn home, when the owner of the Bar-X made this announcement: "All you fellow ranchers are heartily invited to attend the Bar-X round-up social." (Loud applause.) "The time is only two months distant. What I wanted to tell you, especially, is this: You all know that black outlaw roaming the Bar-X range. He has never been ridden, although several have tried to ride him. As an attraction, I'll give that horse and one hundred dollars to the man who can stay on his back two minutes." When ranchers had all started for home, except the Bowens, the Bar-X owner, in bidding them good-bye, said to Ronald: "Too bad you haven't a wild horse buster on your ranch, because I'd like to see you get that black horse." "Maybe we have," said Ronald, "who knows?" "Hired a man lately?" asked the Bar-X owner. "No, don't need one!" replied Ronald. "Who is the rider, then, surely not you?" "Can't be anyone else; and I want to say, Your men have all used the wrong method on that black horse." "What? Wrong method? Say, the only way a man can stay on a horse is to drive in his spurs and grip with his legs and apply the quirt." "Horses won't stand for such abuse, and you know it. They will not buck will- ingly unless they are made to do it," said Ronald quite positively. "If you think you can win the black with that soft-glove method, you can try, but I'll warn you, it won't work," mut- tered the Bar-X owner. The Bowens started homeward and Ronald's mother asked him to forget about that black, as she didn't wish her only son hurt, riding wild, outlaw horses. "He isn't an outlaw, mother," ex- plained Ronald, "he never has trompled a

BLACK KING 301 thrown rider. They drive in their spurs and quirt him, and he simply won't let them ride him. He wouldn't be half so determined to throw them, if they would be kind to him!" His mother thought of this for a mo- ment and said, " I guess you are right. Ronald, and I know you can ride, but do be careful." "And besides," said Ronald, "if I can ride that Black, we can use him to relieve Bay and the hundred dollars will help May at school." The subject was then dropped for the time being. Only one more week before the Bar-X round-up social! Ronald had been very busy since he had talked with the Bar-X owner. He had often thought of their conversation, and was still determined to try riding Black. How he longed to own that proud animal! What a wonderful saddle horse he would be! Then, too, the hundred dollars would surely help. Riding along his west fence line, he looked over part of the Bar-X range. It was the largest ranch on the flat, and its owner was by far the wealthiest. Ronald's course took him along a creek, which was just inside this range. He noted here and there where cattle had crossed, and where, in other places, the quicksand lay in long patches. In many places where no quick- sand appeared, the cattle had worn a path through the small willow bunches, and across the stream. On reaching the top of an extra large knoll, he came unex- pectedly upon a band of range horses. Their leader was none other than the much-longed-for Black. Seeing the rider, the Black gave a shrill whistle and headed straight for the stream and open country. He was in the center of the stream, going at a tremendous speed, when something directly in his path caused him to turn suddenly and leap up stream with a long, hurdling jump. He landed squarely in the center of a quicksand hole. His herd turned and fled in every direction, desert- ing their leader. Instantly Ronald was on the ground and digging into his saddle bags for pliers to cut the wire, knowing too well what would be the fate of the Black, who was trying desperately to draw his feet from the sand hole. Ronald quickly cut the wires that separated him from the Black, and, mounting Bay, dashed madly to the stream, loosening his rope as he went. Reaching the gradually sinking horse, he deftly threw the rope around Black's neck, and pulled his own horse backward on the rope. "Steady, now, Bay. don't pull too hard at once: just steady. There now, he's coming, steady. Do your best now. Black King, if you want to get out of there

302 IMPROVEMENT ERA before that rope cuts your wind off." As if he knew what Ronald was saying, the Black began straining and pulling at his feet, which seemed to refuse to leave the sucking quicksand. At first he seemed to be doomed, but with the steady pull on the rope, and with Black's increasing effort, Ronald and Bay soon began hauling him to safety. With a mighty effort, he gained the firm bank with his forefeet and was soon on hard ground, reeling and gasping for breath. Leaving Bay to hold the Black from fleeing, Ronald started gently along the rope toward the Black. Black King, seeing one of his enemies coming, surged backward on the rope, but it would not give, so he eased forward enough to keep from choking. Ronald began talking kindly to him, and was soon touching his fine nose; then his wide fore- head; then his arching neck. "You are not going to be hurt, Black King; take it easy. They have all treated you meanly, and I don't blame you for throwing them off. I won't hurt you. You can conclude that you and I will get along fine." Still patting his neck. Ronald began loosening the rope with his left hand. The black, unable to determine what kind of a man this was, patting him and talking with kind words, instead of pulling and twisting his ears, began to smell of him, then stepped forward, let- ting the rope slacken. Still suspicious, however, he sniffed danger! Something was wrong: no ear twisting; no blanket over his eyes; no saddle cinched around him! What did this man mean to do? Ronald, overjoyed at the way Black responded to his kindness, began leading the horse toward Bay. After patting him several minutes and talking kindly to him, he slipped the rope over his head and turned him loose. Black King hesitated, he wasn't sure what to do; then, remem- bering his band of mates, he whirled and dashed for the open country, snorting as he ran. Reaching a high hill, he paused, looked back at Ronald, raised his splendid head high in the air and gave a shrill whinney. He was answered by his mates a long way to the south. Instantly he was running at full speed in that direction and, dropping over the hill, was soon out of sight. After mending the cut wires, Ronald continued his ride along the west fence line. As he rode he was wondering: Could the black be ridden? Would he forget the man who pulled him from an awful death in the quicksand? Would he, Ronald, be able to bring him home from the round-up? For the thousandth time, he pictured himself on Black King, and what a splendid saddle horse the animal would be. It was a custom of the Bar-X, after each fall round-up, to have a big celebration. Wild steers were ridden; wild horses were brought on which men were to try their riding skill; steers were roped and tied; races were run; and in the evening a typical barbecue was held. The day for the round-up came, clear and bright, with just a hint of the ap- proaching winter in the air. The ranchers were already arriving at the Bar-X, from many miles in every direction. Laughing and joking, they mingled together and en- joyed one another's company. Ronald, his mother and sister, mingled with the crowd. Ronald was surprised by a slap on his back, and, turning, faced the expert roper from the Double-O ranch. "Going to try to beat you at the steer roping and tying today, Ronald. Last year you beat me by only a couple of seconds, and I think I've gained some time now, so if you're not in A-l shape, you're doomed," laughed the Double-O roper. "Go to it," replied Ronald, "if I don't have any tough luck, I'll give you a run for your money." Ronald was highly respected by the sur- rounding ranchers, for his clean, square dealing, for his promptness and ability in taking his father's place and, last but not least, for his roping ability. He had twice won in the steer-roping and tying con- test and had shown great interest in clean sports. The large crowd had been entertained for some time with horse races, steer rid- ing, relay races, and now came the steer roping and tying. Ronald was at the

BLACK KING 303 chute (_which had been erected for the occasion,) sitting on Bay with perfect ease. There were five other ropers, ready to participate in the event. "My day to haul," came from the Double-O roper, "never in better shape in my life, and never had a better hoss. It's now or never for me; how do you feel. Ronald?" "Fine as a fiddle," replied Ronald. "I wish' you luck." The Double-O roper grinned broadly and raked his horse with the spurs, as the steers were turned out of the chute. When the steers were several yards away, the signal came for the riders to start. Ronald leaned over Bay's neck and urged him ahead, loosening his rope as he charged. With one expert whirl over his head, the rope shot out and encircled the running steer's horns. Bay turned sharply to the right, and, setting his feet firmly in the ground, brought the 9teer to the ground with such force that he was mo- mentarily stunned. Like a flash. Ronald sprang out of the saddle, and sprinted for the steer. Seizing one forefoot, his hands fairly flew, tying the knot. As he reached for the hind foot, the steer kicked, and he missed. Seconds were passing, desperately he grabbed the hind leg and tied the rope; instantly throwing both hands in the air. "Bang," went the gun. Ronald again champion steer roper and tier, by a few seconds. The crowd thundered tremendous applause when the judges announced the winner. Bucking horses came next. Some of them succeeded in throwing their riders; some didn't try to buck; but most of them were determined to get rid of their riders. In all. the interest was intense. From the temporary judge's and an- nouncer's stand came the voice of the Bar-X owner: "The last event of our sports today will be the attempt to ride the black outlaw. The man who rides this horse for two minutes, is to own the horse and get one hundred dollars, as stated before. The first rider is from the Tri- angle ranch." The black horse was in the chute, where he wa9 saddled with great difficulty. He seemed determined not to have that sad- dle cinched on him; but there were too many men for him. He finally gave in. The gates swung back, and Black King was free to do as he pleased with the rider. Spurs were gouging his shoulders and sides. With a terrific lunge he made several straight pitches; then suddenly whirled to the left, doubling up as much as possible. Several whirling lunges failed to loosen those biting spurs, and with a sudden change he went several jumps forward, pounding his hoofs into the earth with terrific force; then, letting his knees double under him, he appeared to stick his head in the dirt and turn over. The rider, thinking to free himself from the horse, (not wishing to be crushed), loosened the grip of his knees on the saddle and jerked his feet from the stirrups. In- stantly the black stiffened his sagging knees, and with a mighty effort whirled, throw- ing his rider completely out of the saddle, to land flat on his back. The uproar from the crowd was tremendous. "That let him out, I guess, eh, Bud?" remarked one. "He told me he had an early fall com- ing," cried another. Black was roped and brought back for number two to try his luck. "Ronald Bowen will now try to ride this black devil," came from the an- nouncer. Several men started forward to help Ronald mount the horse. "Just a moment, fellows," said Ronald, "I want to handle this horse myself. If I can't manage him, I'll call for your help." Taking hold of the rope, he walked quietly up to Black King, talking kindly to him the while. He reached Black King's nose and patted it gently. "Better let us help you," called one man, but Ronald gently shook his head. Patting the fine, sweating nose of the horse, Ronald talked quietly to him, pat- ted and stroked his shining neck. The horse sniffed, waited, and sniffed again. This man was different, all kindness, no twisting or beating: then the horse seemed to remember the quicksand. At any rate, he stepped forward, quit pulling at the

304 IMPROVEMENT ERA rope, and when Ronald stepped around to his side he just stood and sniffed at his back. Ronald was secretly praying that the horse would remember him. Trusting still in kindness, he put his foot in the stirrup and eased himself into the saddle. Reach- ing out, he slipped the rope over Black King's head. The horse hadn't moved. "Goad him, boy, goad him," screamed the crowd; but Ronald only smiled and pulled up on the hackamore. Time was going, already forty seconds had gone by, and Black King stood per- fectly still. "Well, don't be a quitter there, jab those spurs into him," some one yelled. Then there was a gasp. Ronald's boots were spurless! He had a poor chance rid- ing that cyclone, with only his knees to hold him on. Ronald urged Black King forward gen- Rupert, Idaho, R. 2. tly; instantly he dropped his head and arched his back, still no spurs or quirt. With a terrible lunge, he bolted forward preparing to throw his rider, just waiting for the quirt and spurs to strike. Still no spurs digging his sides. He whirled sud- denly about and when the spurs and quirt failed to strike, he started off at a long swinging run, straightening his back, and raising his head as he ran. After a short run, Ronald succeeded in getting him turned, and started back for the crowd. He dismounted near the judges' stand, and Black King, blowing a long shrill blast, was led quietly forward. "You win," called the Bar-X owner. "I guess you are right about the wrong method being used, but it takes some nerve to straddle a cyclone like that with no spurs!" Ronald only smiled — he had proved the power of kindness! When We Wake Up By John Henry Evans It was only a bit of conversation, snatched in the passing, but it was lumin- ous as a sudden flash of lightning on a dark night, showing the road ahead. "I don't feel just right about it," one of the men was saying to the other. "It's all very sordid, even when the stuff isn't poison. We're headed for something in America — I don't know what. And so I've decided to cut it out!" The other acquiesced. Well dressed men, they were, business men apparently with a good education. But, like too many others in their class, they had resented what they looked upon as an infringement of their personal lib- erty, and so had patronized the bootleg- ger in protest. And now their eyes were opened to the fact that all along they had been helping the lawless element to bring about a general condition of insecurity of property and life in this country. This waking up process is going on more and more in every part of America. The skofflaw, whether he sells or buys poison liquor, is now having his day. But the sun is setting slowly on that day. He has bought and sold more than bad whiskey. He has at the same time bartered away law and Constitutional government. He has unleashed the dogs of theft, of bribery, of perjury, of lawlessness. And the result of all this is becoming more and more apparent to all decent citizens. And when such persons, who really have the welfare of their country at heart, begin to think their way into the heart of the question, things will be brought to rights again in our own United States.