The dairy business continued to prove profitable to Gus, the cow
remaining contented, loving and giving. One night, however, there came
the inevitable reaction, and the gentle creature in the cow-shed felt
the same stifling she had rebelled against on the night of the stampede
when she had made her wild dash for liberty. Moved by these
recollections, the sedate, orderly cow became imbued with a feeling of
unrest, and demolishing the frail door was once more at large. In a
frenzy of freedom she dashed about the yard. Her progress was somewhat
impeded by contact with the surplice which, pinned to the clothes-line,
was flapping in the breezes. Maddened by this obstruction which hung,
veil-like, over her bovine lineaments, she gave a twist of her Texas
horns, a tug, and the surplice was released, but from the line only; it
twined itself like a white wraith about the horns.
Then the sportive animal frisked over the low back fence and across the
hill, occasionally stepping on a released end of the surplice and
angrily tearing her way through the garment. She made her road to the
railroad track. That sight, awakening bitter memories of a packed
cattle-car, caused her to slacken her Mazeppa-like speed. While she
paused, the night express backed onto the side track to await the coming
of the eastbound train. The cow, still in meditation, was silhouetted in
the light of a harvest moon.
"This 'ere," a home-bound cattleman was saying to a friend on the
platform, "is nigh onto whar we dropped a cow. I swar if thar ain't that
blasted cow now, what? Know her from hoof to horn, though what kind of a
Christmas tree she's got on fer a bunnit, gits me! Ki, yi! Ki, yi!"
At the sound of the shrill, weird cry, the animal stood at bay. Again
came the well-known strident halloo. A maelstrom of memories was
awakened by the call. Instinctively obeying the old summons she started
toward the train, when from over the hill behind her she heard another
command.
"Co, boss! Co, boss!"
The childish anxious treble rose in an imploring wail.
The cow paused irresolute, hesitating between the lure of the old life
on the plains and the recent domestic existence.
"Co, boss!"
There was a note of entreaty, of affection, in the cry.
After all, domesticity was her birthright. With an answering low of
encouragement the black cow turned and trotted amiably back to meet the
little dairyman.
"Well, I'll be jiggered," said the cattleman, as the train pulled out.
"I'd a swore it was old Jetblack. Maybe 'twas. She was only a milker
anyway, and I guess she's found a home somewhere."