He liked to throw the ropes off the prostrate broncos, when all was ready; to slap them on the flanks; to yell shrill Chinese yells; and to dance in celestial delight when the terrified animal arose and scattered out of there.But one day the range men drove up a little bunch of full-grown cattle that had been bought from a smaller owner.It was necessary to change the brands.Therefore a little fire was built, the stamp-brand put in to heat, and two of the men on horseback caught a cow by the horns and one hind leg, and promptly upset her.The old brand was obliterated, the new one burnt in.This irritated the cow.Promptly the branding-men, who were of course afoot, climbed to the top of the corral to be out of the way.At this moment, before the horsemen could flip loose their ropes, Sang appeared.
"Hol' on!" he babbled."I take him off;" and he scrambled over the fence and approached the cow.
Now cattle of any sort rush at the first object they see after getting to their feet.But whereas a steer makes a blind run and so can be avoided, a cow keeps her eyes open.Sang approached that wild-eyed cow, a bland smile on his countenance.
A dead silence fell.Looking about at my companions' faces I could not discern even in the depths of their eyes a single faint flicker of human interest.
Sang loosened the rope from the hind leg, he threw it from the horns, he slapped the cow with his hat, and uttered the shrill Chinese yell.So far all was according to programme.
The cow staggered to her feet, her eyes blazing fire.
She took one good look, and then started for Sang.
What followed occurred with all the briskness of a tune from a circus band.Sang darted for the corral fence.Now, three sides of the corral were railed, and so climbable, but the fourth was a solid adobe wall.Of course Sang went for the wall.There, finding his nails would not stick, he fled down the length of it, his queue streaming, his eyes popping, his talons curved toward an ideal of safety, gibbering strange monkey talk, pursued a scant arm's length behind by that infuriated cow.Did any one help him? Not any.Every man of that crew was hanging weak from laughter to the horn of his saddle or the top of the fence.The preternatural solemnity had broken to little bits.Men came running from the bunk-house, only to go into spasms outside, to roll over and over on the ground, clutching handfuls of herbage in the agony of their delight.
At the end of the corral was a narrow chute.Into this Sang escaped as into a burrow.The cow came too.Sang, in desperation, seized a pole, but the cow dashed such a feeble weapon aside.Sang caught sight of a little opening, too small for cows, back into the main corral.He squeezed through.The cow crashed through after him, smashing the boards.
At the crucial moment Sang tripped and fell on his face.The cow missed him by so close a margin that for a moment we thought she had hit.But she had not, and before she could turn, Sang had topped the fence and was halfway to the kitchen.Tom Waters always maintained that he spread his Chinese sleeves and flew.Shortly after a tremendous smoke arose from the kitchen chimney.Sang had gone back to cooking.
Now that Mongolian was really in great danger, but no one of the outfit thought for a moment of any but the humorous aspect of the affair.Analogously, in a certain small cow-town I happened to be transient when the postmaster shot a Mexican.
Nothing was done about it.The man went right on being postmaster, but he had to set up the drinks because he had hit the Mexican in the stomach.
That was considered a poor place to hit a man.
The entire town of Willcox knocked off work for nearly a day to while away the tedium of an enforced wait there on my part.They wanted me to go fishing.
One man offered a team, the other a saddle-horse.All expended much eloquence in directing me accurately, so that I should be sure to find exactly the spot where I could hang my feet over a bank beneath which there were "a plumb plenty of fish." Somehow or other they raked out miscellaneous tackle.But they were a little too eager.I excused myself and hunted up a map.Sure enough the lake was there, but it had been dry since a previous geological period.The fish were undoubtedly there too, but they were fossil fish.Iborrowed a pickaxe and shovel and announced myself as ready to start.
Outside the principal saloon in one town hung a gong.When a stranger was observed to enter the saloon, that gong was sounded.Then it behooved him to treat those who came in answer to the summons.
But when it comes to a case of real hospitality or helpfulness, your cowboy is there every time.
You are welcome to food and shelter without price, whether he is at home or not.Only it is etiquette to leave your name and thanks pinned somewhere about the place.Otherwise your intrusion may be considered in the light of a theft, and you may be pursued accordingly.
Contrary to general opinion, the cowboy is not a dangerous man to those not looking for trouble.
