A mile of this and the whole rear guard was composed of plaintive,
wet-eyed little calves who made slower and slower progress. Some
of them were stubborn and risked all upon a spirited dash back
toward the homes they were leaving and toward the mothers who
would not answer. It took hard, sharp riding to run them down, for
they fled like rabbits, bolting through prickly-pear and scrub,
their tails bravely aloft, their stiff legs flying. Others, too
tired and thirsty to go farther, lay down and refused to budge,
and these had to be carried over the saddlehorn until they had
rested. Some hid themselves cunningly in the mesquite clumps or
burrowed into the coarse sagauista grass.
But now those swarthy, dare-devil riders were as gentle as women;
they urged the tiny youngsters onward with harmless switches or
with painless blows from loose-coiled riatas; they picked them up
in their arms and rode with them.
Once through the gate and safe inside the restraining pasture
fence, the herd was allowed to settle down. Then began a patient
search by outraged mothers, a series of mournful quests that were
destined to continue far into the night; endless nosings and
sniffings and caressings, which would keep up until each cow had
found her own, until each calf was butting its head against
maternal ribs and gaining that consolation which it craved.
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