Then the drive to the big pasture began, word having been sent to McCall
to follow with the chuck wagon.
The big pasture ran north from the home pasture, which was near the
ranch house.
It comprised thousands of acres, and was so high that nearly always it
was free of snow, which the strong winds coming down from the mountains
swept as clear as if a gigantic broom had been used.
Back of the pasture lay a range of low mountains, the Sweet Grass they
were called, in which several high buttes towered like sentinels.
The Sweet Grass Mountains had the reputation of harboring a great many
"bad men," both whites and Indians, who had forsaken the Blackfeet
Indian reservation to the west.
The mountain valleys afforded a splendid protection for the cattle, as
did the numerous coulees with which the country was seamed.
The big pasture of the Long Tom was reputed to be the best winter
feeding ground in Montana. The grass was high and nutritious, and there
were plenty of water holes.
Once on the pasture the cattle scattered into smaller herds, each under
the leadership of a bull, while the steers drifted off by themselves.
All that was necessary to care for the herd was to ride the lines of the
pasture, and keep the cattle on their own feeding grounds, prevent them
from straying, and hunt down the packs of wolves which preyed upon the
weak cows and young cattle.
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