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COWBOY DAVE
OR
THE ROUND-UP AT ROLLING RIVER
BY FRANK V. WEBSTER
AUTHOR OF "ONLY A FARM BOY," "BOB THE CASTAWAY," "COMRADES OF THE SADDLE,"
"AIRSHIP ANDY," "TOM TAYLOR AT WEST POINT," ETC.
ILLUSTRATED
BOOKS FOR BOYS
By FRANK V. WEBSTER
ONLY A FARM BOY
TOM, THE TELEPHONE BOY
THE BOY FROM THE RANCH
THE YOUNG TREASURER HUNTER
BOB, THE CASTAWAY
THE YOUNG FIREMEN OF LAKEVILLE
THE NEWSBOY PARTNERS
THE BOY PILOT OF THE LAKES
THE TWO BOY GOLD MINERS
JACK, THE RUNAWAY
COMRADES OF THE SADDLE
THE BOYS OF BELLWOOD SCHOOL
THE HIGH SCHOOL RIVALS
BOB CHESTER'S GRIT
AIRSHIP ANDY
DARRY, THE LIFE SAVER
DICK, THE BANK BOY
BEN HARDY'S FLYING MACHINE
THE BOYS OF THE WIRELESS
HARRY WATSON'S HIGH SCHOOL DAYS
THE BOY SCOUTS OF LENOX
TOM TAYLOR AT WEST POINT
COWBOY DAVE
THE BOYS OF THE BATTLESHIP
JACK OF THE PONY EXPRESS
COWBOY DAVE
CONTENTS
I. AFTER STRAY CATTLE
II. THE TAUNT
III. A CONFESSION
IV. A SMALL STAMPEDE
V. TREACHERY
VI. A CRY FOR HELP
VII. THE RESCUE
VIII. MR. BELLMORE
IX. DAVE MEETS LEN
X. DAVE WONDERS
XI. HAZARDOUS WORK
XII. THE FIGHT
XIII. SOME NEWS
XIV. A WARNING
XV. RETALIATION
XVI. UNAVAILING EFFORTS
XVII. THE ROUND-UP
XVIII. A MIDNIGHT BLAZE
XIX. FIGHTING FIRE
XX. THE CHASE
XXI. THE ESCAPE
XXII. TANGLES
XXIII. THE CLUE
XXIV. BROTHERS
XXV. THE NEW RANCH
[Illustration: HE WHEELED AND RODE STRAIGHT AT THE ONCOMING STEERS]
CHAPTER I
AFTER STRAY CATTLE
"Hi! Yi! Yip!"
"Woo-o-o-o! Wah! Zut!"
"Here we come!"
What was coming seemed to be a thunderous cloud of dust, from the midst of
which came strange, shrill sounds, punctuated with sharp cries, that did
not appear to be altogether human.
The dust-cloud grew thicker, the thunder sounded louder, and the yells
were shriller.
From one of a group of dull, red buildings a sun-bronzed man stepped
forth.
He shaded his eyes with a brown, powerful hand, gazed for an instant
toward the approaching cloud of animated and vociferous dust and, turning
to a smiling Chinese who stood near, with a pot in his hand, remarked in a
slow, musical drawl:
"Well Hop Loy, here they are, rip-roarin' an' snortin' from th' round-up!"
"Alle samee hungly, too," observed the Celestial with unctious blandness.
"You can sure make a point of that Hop Loy," went on the other. "Hungry is
their middle name just now, and you'd better begin t' rustle th' grub, or
I wouldn't give an empty forty-five for your pig-tail."
"Oi la!" fairly screamed the Chinese, as, with a quick gesture toward his
long queue, he scuttled toward the cook house, which stood in the midst of
the other low ranch buildings. "Glub leady alle samee light now!" Hop Loy
cried over his shoulder.
"It better be!" ominously observed Pocus Pete, foreman of the Bar U ranch,
one of the best-outfitted in the Rolling River section. "It better be!
Those boys mean business, or I miss my guess," the foreman went on. "Hard
work a-plenty, I reckon. Wonder how they made out?" he went on musingly as
he started back toward the bunk house, whence he had come with a saddle
strap to which he was attaching a new buckle. "If things don't take a turn
for th' better soon, there won't any of us make out," and, with a gloomy
shake of his head, Pocus Pete, to give him the name he commonly went by,
tossed the strap inside the bunk house, and went on toward the main
building, where, by virtue of his position as head of the cowboys, he had
his own cot.
Meanwhile the crowd of yelling, hard-riding sand dust-stirring punchers,
came on faster than ever.
"Hi! Yi! Yip!"
"Here we come!"
"Keep th' pot a-bilin'! We've got our appetites With us!"
"That's what!"
Some one fired his big revolver in the air, and in another moment there
was an echo of many shots, the sharp crack of the forty-fives mingling
with the thunder of hoofs, the yells, and the clatter of stirrup leathers.
"The boys coming back, Pete?" asked an elderly man, who came to the door
of the main living room of the principal ranch house.
"Yes, Mr. Carson, they're comin' back, an' it don't need a movin' picture
operator an' telegraphic despatch t' tell it, either."
"No, Pete. They seem to be in good spirits, too."
"Yes, they generally are when they get back from round-up. I want to hear
how they made out, though, an' what th' prospects are."
"So do I, Pete," and there was an anxious note in the voice of Mr.
Randolph Carson, owner of the Bar U ranch. Matters had not been going well
with him, of late.
With final yells, and an increase in the quantity of dust tossed up as the
cowboys pulled their horses back on their haunches, the range-riding
outfit of the ranch came to rest, not far away from the stable. The
horses, with heaving sides and distended nostrils that showed a deep red,
hung their heads from weariness. They had been ridden hard, but not
unmercifully, and they would soon recover. The cowboys themselves tipped
back their big hats from their foreheads, which showed curiously white in
contrast to their bronzed faces, and beat the dust from their trousers. A
few of them wore sheepskin chaps.
One after another the punchers slung their legs across the saddle horns,
tossed the reins over the heads of their steeds, as an intimation that the
horses were not to stray, and then slid to the ground, walking with that
peculiarly awkward gait that always marks one who has spent much of his
life in the saddle.
"Grub ready, Hop Loy?" demanded one lanky specimen, as he used his blue
neck kerchief to remove some of the dust and sweat from his brown face.
"It better be!" added another, significantly; while still another said,
quietly:
"My gal has been askin' me for a long, long time to get her a Chinaman's
pig-tail, an' I'm shore goin' t'get one now if I don't have my grub right
plenty, an' soon!"
"Now you're talkin'!" cried a fourth, with emphasis.
There was no need of saying anything further. The Celestial had stuck his
head out of the cook house to hear these ominous words of warning, and
now, with a howl of anguish, he drew it inside again, wrapping his queue
around his neck. Then followed a frantic rattling of pots and pans.
"You shore did get him goin', Tubby!" exclaimed a tall, lanky cowboy, to a
short and squatty member of the tribe.
"Well, I aimed to Skinny," was the calm reply. "I am some hungry."
The last of the cowboys to alight was a manly youth, who might have been
in the neighborhood of eighteen or nineteen years of age. He was tall and
slight, with a frank and pleasing countenance, and his blue eyes looked at
you fearlessly from under dark brows, setting off in contrast his
sunburned face. Had any one observed him as he rode up with the other
cowboys, it would have been noticed that, though he was the youngest, he
was one of the best riders.
He advanced from among the others, pausing to pet his horse which stuck
out a wet muzzle for what was evidently an expected caress. Then the young
man walked forward, with more of an air of grace than characterized his
companions. Evidently, though used to a horse, he was not so saddle-bound
as were his mates.
As he walked up to the ranch house he was met by Mr. Carson and Pocus
Pete, both of whom looked at him rather eagerly and anxiously.
"Well, son," began the ranch owner, "how did you make out?"
"Pretty fair, Dad," was the answer. "There were more cattle than you led
us to expect, and there were more strays than we calculated on. In fact we
didn't get near all of them."
"Is that so, Dave?" asked Pocus Pete, quickly. "Whereabouts do you reckon
them strays is hidin'?"
"The indications are they're up Forked Branch way. That's where we got
some, and we saw more away up the valley, but we didn't have time to go
for them, as we had a little trouble; and Tubby and the others thought
we'd better come on, and go back for the strays to-morrow."
"Trouble, Dave?" asked Mr. Carson, looking up suddenly.
"Well, not much, though it might have been. We saw some men we took to be
rustlers heading for our bunch of cattle, but they rode off when we
started for them. Some of the boys wanted to follow but it looked as
though it might storm, and Tubby said we'd better move the bunch while we
could, and look after the rustlers and strays later."
"Yes, I guess that was best," the ranch owner agreed. "But where were
these rustlers from, Dave?"
"Hard to say, Dad. Looked to be Mexicans."
"I reckon that'd be about right," came from Pocus Pete. "We'll have to be
on th' watch, Mr. Carson."
"I expect so, Pete. Things aren't going so well that I can afford to lose
any cattle. But about these strays, Dave. Do you think we'd better get
right after them?"
"I should say so, Dad."
"Think there are many of them?"
"Not more than two of us could drive in. I'll go to-morrow with one of the
men. I know just about where to look for them."
"All right, Dave. If you're not too much done out I'd like to have you
take a hand."
"Done out, Dad! Don't you think I'm making a pretty good cowpuncher?"
"That's what he is, Mr. Carson, for a fact!" broke in Pete, with
admiration. "I'd stake Cowboy Dave ag'in' any man you've got ridin' range
to-day. That's what I would!"
"Thanks, Pete," said the youth, with a warm smile.
"Well, that's the truth, Dave. You took to this business like a duck takes
to water, though the land knows there ain't any too much water in these
parts for ducks."
"Yes, we could use more, especially at this season," Mr. Carson admitted.
"Rolling River must be getting pretty dry; isn't it, Dave?"
"I've seen it wetter, Dad. And there's hardly any water in Forked Branch.
I don't see how the stray cattle get enough to drink."
"It is queer they'd be off up that way," observed Pete. "But that might
account for it," he went on, as though communing with himself.
"Account for what?" asked Dave, as he sat down in a chair on the porch.
"Th' rustlers. If they were up Forked Branch way they'd stand between th'
strays and th' cattle comin' down where they could get plenty of water in
Rolling River. That's worth lookin' into. I'll ride up that way with you
to-morrow, Dave, an' help drive in them cattle."
"Will you, Pete? That will be fine!" the young cowboy exclaimed. Evidently
there was a strong feeling of affection between the two. Dave looked to
Mr. Carson for confirmation.
"Very well," the ranch owner said, "you and Pete may go, Dave. But don't
take any chances with the rustlers if you encounter them."
"We're not likely to," said Pocus Pete, significantly.
From the distant cook house came the appetizing odor of food and Dave
sniffed the air eagerly.
"Hungry?" asked Mr. Carson.
"That's what I am, Dad!"
"Well, eat heartily, get a good rest, and tomorrow you can try your hand
at driving strays."
Evening settled down over the Bar U ranch; a calm, quiet evening, in spite
of the earlier signs of a storm. In the far west a faint intermittent
light showed where the elements were raging, but it was so far off that
not even the faintest rumble of thunder came over Rolling River, a stream
about a mile distant, on the banks of which were now quartered the cattle
which the cowboys had recently rounded up for shipment.
The only sounds that came with distinctness were the occasional barking
and baying of a dog, as he saw the rising moon, and the dull shuffle of
the shifting cattle, which were being guarded by several cowboys who were
night-riding.
Very early the next morning Dave Carson and Pocus Pete, astride their
favorite horses, and carrying with them a substantial lunch, set off after
the strays which had been dimly observed the day before up Forked Branch
way.
This was one of the tributaries of Rolling River, the valley of which was
at one time one of the most fertile sections of the largest of our Western
cattle states. The tributary divided into two parts, or branches, shortly
above its junction with Rolling River. Hence its name. Forked Branch came
down from amid a series of low foot-hills, forming the northern boundary
of Mr. Randolph Carson's ranch.
"We sure have one fine day for ridin'," observed Pocus Pete, as he urged
his pony up alongside Dave's.
"That's right," agreed the youth.
For several miles they rode on, speaking but seldom, for a cowboy soon
learns the trick of silence--it is so often forced on him.
As they turned aside to take a trail that led to Forked Branch, Dave, who
was riding a little ahead, drew rein. Instinctively Pocus Pete did the
same, and then Dave, pointing to the front, asked:
"Is that a man or a cow?"