HAZARDOUS WORK
Cowboys rushing here and there. Dust arising in clouds, settling into a
hazy mist, only to be shattered again, as some rushing rider rode
recklessly through it. Yells, shouts, the snapping of whips, the barking
of heavy calibred revolvers, now and then the shrill neigh of a cow-pony.
Above all a deep resonant note--a sort of distant thunder--a pounding of
the earth as thousands of hoofs smote it at once.
That was the scene on which Dave Carson gazed, as he rose in his saddle,
his breath coming in quicker measures, while a fierce light shone in his
eyes, for he was having a part in it all.
It was one of the many round-ups on the Bar U range, and there was work
for all, more than enough.
"Hi there, Gimp! Watch where yo-all are a-ridin'!"
"Swing him over there! I'll handle that critter!"
"What's the matter with your fire? Can't git no kind of an impression with
irons as cold as a chunk of ice!"
"Look out for that cayuse! He's shore a bad 'un!"
"Over this way now!"
"That's talkin'!"
This was only some of the talk, part of the shouts, a few of the yells
that were bandied back and forth, as the cowboys rounded up the herd, cut
out the designated steers or cows, branded the new ones that had never yet
felt the touch of the hot iron, and generally did the work that falls to
every ranch at certain times of the year.
Dave had been among the busiest, now roping some refractory steer, now
helping a cowboy heat the big irons, with their mark "Bar U.", now
scudding out of the way on the back of his fleet pony, Crow. Now finding a
moment of respite, he galloped up to where Mr. Bellmore was sitting in the
shade of the chuck wagon, as the cooking outfit is known.
"Well, what do you think of it?" asked the young cowboy, as he pulled his
horse back sharply, so that Crow reared. But he was used to that, and Dave
was exceptionally gentle with him.
"It's just great!" exclaimed the man who had been a semi-invalid since
coming to Bar U ranch. "I never imagined there was so much work attached
to a round-up."
"Oh, there's work all right," said Dave, removing his big hat and wiping
the sweat from his brow with a big handkerchief. "It isn't much like
locating a water trail, I expect?"
"Not much," assented the visitor, who had now been at the ranch about a
week, and who was progressing favorably. His ankle would not yet permit
him to step on it, but he managed to get about with the help of his horse.
To-day he had ridden out in the chuck wagon to witness the round-up.
"Locating a good place to plant an irrigation scheme is child's play
compared to this cattle business," went on Mr. Bellmore. "Still I suppose
you get more or less used to it."
"In a way, yes," said Pocus Pete, who rode up just then. "But there are
always some things you never can count on. Gimp's horse just broke his
leg," he added, more to Dave than to the visitor.
"You don't say!" exclaimed the lad. "That will make Gimp feel bad."
"Well, it's all in the game," added the foreman with a shrug of his
shoulders. "That's the end of him," he went on as a shot rang out. There
had been little firing of late, for the work of branding the strays and
other cattle was almost over.
"Did he shoot him?" asked Mr. Bellmore.
"Th' horse? yes!" said Pete sententiously.
"That's all we can do for a horse when he breaks a leg. He ain't no good
to anybody. That's the law of th' range. Yo've got t' make good or quit!"
"Poor Star," murmured Dave. "He was a good horse."
"While he lasted," added Pete. "But Gimp pulled him around too sudden
like, I'm thinkin', t' get out of the way of an onery steer. Well, that's
th' way it goes!"
And Dave, as he thought of his own new and peculiar position, wondered if
that was to be his way. He was really no one now. Would he be thrust
aside, and not counted as one of the family?
And yet, as he reflected on the fact that Mr. Carson had always known of
their relation--or, rather their lack of relation--he would not be likely
to change.
"I wonder if I'll ever find out who my parents are?" thought Dave. "I must
have some folks, somewhere."
But as he recalled what had been told him--how he had been swept down the
river in a great flood--the chances that he had any kin living seemed more
and more remote.
But the boy was awakened out of his momentary brown study.
"Hi there!"
"Look out for that critter!"
"He's a bad one!"
"Rope him!"
Such were the wild cries that greeted Dave as he spurred away from the
chuck wagon toward what seemed more than the usual commotion. A steer that
had been roped and thrown that a new brand might be put over the almost
obliterated one, had broken away and regained its feet and was wildly
rushing here and there.
A lasso had been thrown over his head, and this now trailed in the dust
Several of the cowboys, clapping spurs to their ponies, set off either to
throw more ropes about the escaping beast, or else to grasp the trailing
lariat.
"Take him, Dave!" cried Pocus Pete, who wanted the lad to get as much
practical experience as possible.
"I'll get him," was the instant call in response.
"Look at him go!" murmured Mr. Bellmore, who half rose from a pile of
blankets to watch the antics of the steer.
"Yes, that boy of mine can ride!" said Mr. Carson, who was looking on. A
tender look came into his eyes.
No one looking at him would have suspected that, only a comparatively
short time before, he had confessed to this same lad that there was no
real relationship between them. That they were actually, strangers, save
that there was a love between them that could only come of long
association.
"Yes. He surely can ride," murmured the ranch owner. "If he lives I hope
he'll succeed me as operator here. And if I can put through your
irrigation scheme it will make Bar U one of the best ranches in this part
of the country."
"Oh, we'll put it through all right," said the Chicago man. "Don't worry
about that. We'll put it through."
"If Molick doesn't kick up a row," observed Mr. Carson.
"Yes, of course we've got to look out for him. But I think--"
Mr. Bellmore never finished his sentence.
"Look out, Dave!" he yelled, as if he could warn the lad who was riding
toward the rushing steer.
"Oh! Oh!" gasped Mr. Carson.
The next instant they both saw the trailing rope on the steer's head
tangle around the legs of Dave's pony. The plucky Crow made a brave effort
to keep his feet. But a moment later he went down heavily in a cloud of
dust with his rider, while the maddened steer, brought up short, reared
and seemed to fall backward on pony and cowboy.