SMOKY STARTS OUT
The first day of the fall round up was to Smoky a whole lot like the
first day of school to the kid of the settlement, only, Smoky was full
grown and his brain full developed. His eyes stayed wide open and
worked with his ears so that nothing of interest would be missed.
There was so much that was strange and which kept his senses on the
jump. The big wagons with the four and six horse teams done a lot of
spooky rattling as they followed the pilot, sometimes on a high lope,
across the rolling prairie, over benches and down draws. Then trailing
along close behind the thumping of hoofs of many ponies, the remuda,
made a sound which hinted everything to Smoky, everything from a
stampede on up, and if it hadn't been for the hand that once in a while
was felt on his neck, and the voice which he heard and knowed so well
the little horse would of sure left a streak of dust and away from all
that confusion of wagons and men.
There was too many riders around him. They all kept too close, and once
in a while as the outfit sashayed on towards the first camp grounds and
some bronc would bust out a bucking and a trying to shed off a cowboy,
Smoky felt a lot like doing the same. But always, and whenever he felt
like "kettling" the most, Clint's hand and voice was there to quiet
him down. That hand and voice worked the same as to prove to Smoky,
that as long as Clint was around close there was nothing for him to
fear.
As the outfit rambled on, Clint gradually reined Smoky to one side till
he was well away and where he would feel more at ease to watch without
fear all what the layout had to show that was strange. Smoky's ears
then perked up in a different angle, and as Clint talked to him that
spooky looking outfit lining out acrost the range got to look less
spooky and more interesting.
Smoky followed the outfit and watched it till the sun was well up in
the middle of the sky, then the pilot raised his hand, made a circle
and the wagons followed him to a standstill. A dry camp was made and
the cook had the pots to working a few minutes after the outfit had
come to a stop. The rope corrals was strung out in the wink of an eye
and the remuda run in.
Smoky had watched the whole proceedings with a lot of interest, the
many horses, men, and all had him to using his eyes and ears to the
limit, and the low snorts he'd let out every once in a while as he
turned to watch all that went on, was as plain as talk, that for
excitement this sure had everything he'd ever seen before beat to a
frazzle.
* * * * *
"Come and get it, you Rannies!" It was the cook's holler for the riders
to come and eat. About then Smoky seen Clint headed towards him and
where he'd been left picketed. A little rub back of the ear and Smoky
was led to the rope corral, unsaddled, and turned in with the remuda.
"Have a good roll, Smoky horse," says Clint as he turned him loose,
"and don't let no ornery pony get the best of you."
Smoky looked back at Clint for a spell the same as to ask him where
_he_ was going, and as the cowboy stood there watching the little horse
moseyed on and disappeared amongst the saddle bunch.
The "round-up pan" was filling up with the tin cups and plates as the
cowboys, thru eating, was making their way towards their saddles by the
rope corrals. A hard twist catch rope was unbuckled from them saddles,
loops was shook out, and pretty soon them same loops begin a sailing
and a reaching out like a mighty long arm for the horse each cowboy
picked out for that afternoon's ride.
Smoky seen and heard the hiss of them loops as they sailed on over past
him to settle around some other pony's neck, and even tho all was done
quiet so none of the horses would start running too much, Smoky had
a mighty restless feeling whenever them snaky ropes appeared. Clint
hadn't roped him only once and that was when he was a raw bronc, but
he hadn't forgot the feeling that'd been his when that same rope had
caught him, stretched him out, and left him plumb helpless.
His brain was near stampeding with him at the sound of so many ropes,
and once in a while when he'd spot some strange rider carrying one
of them hated coils the sight made him hit for the middle of the
herd,--but even there he wasn't safe, for there was no telling how far
them ropes could reach.
It was in winding around and thru the thick of the herd, that Smoky
found himself on the edge and crowded against the big rope cable which
was the corral. The sight that met his eye there had him wanting to
hide back in the middle of the herd once again, but he had no chance,
the herd had him wedged where he couldn't move and as it was he had to
stare wild eyed at all that was there for him to see.
A few feet away was half a dozen riders saddling up, and that's what
kettled Smoky,--the few feet that was between him and them strangers
was too close for comfort. He was just about to try another grand rush
to get back into the middle of the herd when the sound of something
familiar made him hesitate. It was the ring of a spur rowel, a ring
he'd heard often, and pretty soon Smoky spots Clint only a few feet
away from him and leading a strange horse to his saddle.
Smoky stuck his head and neck out far as he could and nickered at the
sight of the cowboy, and that cowboy having his attention some other
direction at the time was made to turn mighty quick as the well known
nicker was heard.--There was all in Smoky's looks and nicker that
seemed to say "Pardner, I need help."
[Illustration: Smoky stuck his head and neck out far as he could and
nickered at the sight of the cowboy.]
Clint laughed, but the laugh wasn't of the kind that comes from a joke.
"What's the matter, little horse?"
But Clint knowed what was the matter, he could hear the thump thump
of Smoky's heart as he came nearer, and feel the throb of it as he
layed a hand on his neck. He rubbed on the slick hide a spell, and that
cowboy experienced a mighty great feeling when he noticed as he stayed,
that gradually the pony's heart beats begin to slow down and soon was
behaving normal again.
Smoky watched the cowboy leave him to go to where his saddle was laying
on the ground out a ways. He watched him put the saddle on the strange
horse, and when Clint came back leading the horse and finished saddling
by Smoky, that pony nipped at the cowboy's chap' leg the same as to say
"Stick around a spell."
Clint did stick around for a spell. He wasted a lot of good company
time fooling with the latigos and seeing that his rope was coiled up
neat, and even tho he knowed that as a good cowboy he should been
helping tearing down camp, he stuck by the corral and Smoky till the
last rider had caught, saddled, and rode his horse away. The remuda was
let out then, the wrangler circled the bunch and started grazing 'em
till the wagons started again for that night's grounds.
Smoky was hazed along and lost in the big horse herd, Clint watched
him and when he couldn't see him no more started coiling up the big
cable, which was the rope corral used on open range, and with the help
of another rider put it in one of the wagons where it'd be easy reached
again.
It'd been less than an hour since the cook had stopped his team and
jumped off the wagon to cook the cowboys' noon bait, and now he was
up on the wagon again and waiting there for the boys to finish hooking
up his team and hand him the "ribbons"--Soon enough that was done,
the pilot started and the cook warwhooped his broncs into a running
start, the bed wagon, loaded down with twenty some odd "Montana Rolls,"
took up the swing, and the wood wagon tagged along behind. Then came
the remuda of over two hundred saddle horses and hazing 'em was the
"Wrangatang" (day wrangler).
The first "circle" of the fall round up was on that afternoon--The
circle starts from wherever the round-up wagon might be. The round-up
wagon of most countries is composed of three wagons, one for "chuck"
and pots and the cook, another for the riders' bedding which is rolled
in big canvas tarpaulins. It takes quite some bedding for twenty or
more men, specially in countries where it's apt to snow in the middle
of June. The third wagon is for wood and water and which is used in
prairie countries where there's neither wood or water to be found for a
ways.
The cook drives his chuckwagon, the "flunky" (cook's helper) drives the
bed wagon, and the "nighthawk" (rider who herds the remuda at night)
drives the wood wagon. Them three wagons which is called "The Wagon"
is the cowboys' home while on the range. It carries his grub, his
"war bag" (bag of clothes), his bedding, and strips of rawhide which
he salts down and sometimes cuts into strings and braids things like
"bosals" (nose bands) or such.
"The Wagon" moves camp most every day, and sometimes twice and three
times a day, all depends on how quick the country is "worked." The
"circle" starts from "The Wagon." The twenty or more riders and the
cow foreman ride straight to some point for ten or fifteen miles. On
top of some butte the bunch stops, then the cow foreman "scatters the
riders." He'll send 'em in pairs to the right, left, and straight ahead
and spread 'em fan shape to a certain point where they turn, or where
there's no more cattle to be seen, and they'll head back towards the
wagon again, bringing with 'em all the cattle that's seen in the ride.
That's what's called a "circle." It averages twenty-five miles and
ends at the wagon where all the riders meet again each bringing with
'em whatever cattle was found. The wagon might of moved and a new camp
set up while the boys was out on "circle," but wherever the wagon is
that's where the "circle" ends. To one side of the camp a mile or so
the "cutting grounds" where the herd is "worked" is the spot where all
the cattle is brought to from that one "circle" and held there for
branding, and cutting out whatever is not wanted. Two "circles" are
made a day.
Soon as Jeff, the cow foreman, seen the wagons lining out in good shape
for that night's camp he put his horse in a high lope and looking back
at the boys that was doing their best in putting up a ride on the
sun-fishing ponies, he grinned as he seen that all stuck on and fanned,
and felt mighty proud of being the cow boss of such a bunch of riders.
Clint was riding a big "apelusa" called Chapo, and one of the best
circle horses the outfit had, but he wasn't appreciating him much just
then, and as he rode along leaving the wagons and remuda to his left
his eyes was a whole lot on the dust that remuda made, and a trying to
get a glimpse of a mouse colored piece of horseflesh which he'd called
Smoky.
But Smoky was getting along fine as he trotted and loped along on
the trail of the wagons. He'd no more than left Clint by the rope
corral when he run acrost that brother of his again and after the two
nickered "Howdedoos" at one another they trailed along side by side,
plum contented with everything in general. The sound of the dozen or so
bells that was strapped to the necks of the oldest and wisest ponies
was new and mighty pleasant to Smoky's ears and it was good to be
roaming again and with so much company.
It was middle afternoon when the pilot came to a big creek bottom and
circled by a grove of willows and cottonwoods. The second camp of that
day was made, the wrangler let the remuda come to a walk and pretty
soon left 'em to graze on towards the creek a half a mile below camp,
and as he seen that all seemed contented to graze, drink, and roll,
he left 'em to go and put up the rope corral, snake in wood for the
cook, and whatever other things that's all the responsibilities of the
wrangatang.
He kept one eye on the ponies as he worked and if any restless bronc
showed indications of wanting to start drifting that boy jumped on
his horse, turned him, and watched for a spell till that bronc seemed
satisfied to stay. Many a wrangler had used the excuse of "hard-to-hold
ponies" just so he could get away from too much work, and most always
it was a mighty good excuse too.
But Smoky and Pecos, which was his brother, had give no such a excuse
to the wrangler. They both seemed mighty satisfied, and after they'd
had a good drink in the cool stream, and a good roll afterwards put
their time in getting away with all the blue joint grass they could.
Every once in a while Smoky would raise his head, and chewing on a
mouthful of the tall feed, would look up at the ridges around him, then
towards the camp and wonder at the noise the cook was making with his
pots and pans. All had him interested, it was all new, and with the
nicker he'd often hear from one side of the scattered remuda and then
the other, the steady ring of the horse bells and all, the little horse
wasn't hankering for anything only just what he was in the thick of.
He'd been grazing for a good long time, and the sun was hitting towards
the ridges to the west, when to the south a ways he noticed a big dust
a soaring up the sky and a mile high. There was a steady rumbling noise
as the dust came closer and pretty soon he could make out the bellering
of the critter. A big herd it was, the "combings" of the first
"circle," and a thousand head or more of white-faced, brockle-faced,
speckled, red, black, and all colors and sizes of range cattle topped a
ridge and on a high lope was swung towards the "cutting grounds."
About that time the horse wrangler fogged in on the remuda, and in
a short while Smoky and all the ponies found themselves in the rope
corral once again; the cowboys was needing fresh horses and catch
ropes begin a sailing once more as the twenty and more of 'em snared
their "cut" horses, a few snaked out broncs and pretty soon all hands
was mounted again, and working the herd they'd brought in.
Smoky was spooked up once more as he heard the ropes sing over his
ears. He heard a familiar voice say "How's she going, Smoky?" but the
little horse was busy hunting a hole about that time and he was too
excited to nicker an answer. Then, after what seemed an awful long time
to Smoky, the ponies was left out of the corral once more and when the
wrangler checked 'em all to graze, him and Pecos was in the lead.
The ponies was grazing on a low bench and on the opposite side of the
creek from where the cattle herd was being worked. Many was cut out and
started back on the same range from where they come, and pretty soon
Smoky's sensitive nostrils smelled the smoke from the fire that kept
the branding irons hot; then the smell of burnt hair followed, he heard
the beller of the critters, and snorting sorta low and in wonder the
mouse colored pony watched.
He watched the riders at work, seen long ropes a swinging, and how them
long ropes would stop the bunch-quitting steer; he was familiar with
some of that and somehow there came in him a hunch that he'd like to be
closer; there was something about the workings of that herd across the
creek that had his blood racing above natural, and he felt a kind of a
call for the whole of the goings on, a call of the kind he couldn't as
yet understand, but it was there sure enough.
Finally, the smell of singed hair wasn't on the breeze no more,
branding was over for that day, and the last rope was coiled up and
fastened by the saddle horn. Smoky watched as all but a few riders left
the herd and headed for camp, he went to grazing then, and neck and
neck with Pecos he listened to the rattle of tin plates and the laugh
of the cowboys as he nosed around for the tenderest stems of the blue
joint.
Four riders on "cocktail" (hours between the last meal of the day and
the first night guard) got on their horses and rode to "relieve" the
riders holding the herd, and it wasn't long after that when the quiet
of the evening settled on the range. Even the critter seemed to want
to stop bellering for a spell at that time, most of the bells of the
remuda was quiet and the ponies was dozing.
Smoky had been dozing too, but pretty soon his ears perked up at a
sound the likes of which he'd never heard before, the sound came from
the camp, and strange as it was there was something about it that
wasn't at all aggravating.
Around a good size fire was gathered the cowboys,--the cook, the
flunky, the wrangler, Jeff the foreman and all was in the circle, all
but the four riders on "cocktail" and the "nighthawk" who'd took the
wrangler's place for the night's herding of the saddle horses. Most
of the boys was setting on or leaning against a big roll of tarpaulin
covered bedding, and one closest to the fire was a working away trying
to get a tune on his mouth organ.
That was the sound which'd come to Smoky's ears, the older cowhorses
all knowed that sound well, and if any of 'em could of packed a tune
there'd been many in the remuda a humming.
The song that was being worked at just then had been heard at all the
cow camps and round up wagons of the cow country for many years, and
handed down from the injun fighting cowboy to the son that took up the
trail where he left it and when the horns on the critter wasn't so long
no more. There was a lot of memories stirred up whenever them songs
was heard and many a cowboy got sentimental at the sound of 'em, for
most all cowboys can remember some quiet night when the time of such a
song was spread around the herd;--then of a sudden and for no reason a
stampede is in full swing, a dead cowboy is found under his horse at
the bottom of a fifty foot jump off, and leaves only the memory of the
song he'd been singing that night.
"Oh, I'm a Texas cowbo-o-oy, and far away from home,
And if I ever get back again no more will I ever roam,
Wyoming's too cold for me-e-e, the winters are too long,
And when round up comes again, my money's all go-o-o-_ne_."
Clint had got harmonious, and with the other cowboy a trying to keep up
on the mouth organ was singing the song, he mixed in about ten verses
and took in other songs as he went, the tunes changed some, but the
"Texas whang" he carried with the tunes made 'em more or less alike and
all appreciated the same.
The last verse had died down, some of the boys looked up expecting
more, and others, hat brim pulled down, was stargazing at the fire and
letting the memories the songs had brought lead 'em back to times and
happenings that'd been stirred the most.
All was quiet, excepting for the crackling of the fire, and one of the
boys was just about to speak the name of some other old song when off
from the direction where the remuda was held, a nicker was heard.
Clint looked towards where the familiar nicker had come and
smiled,--the cowboy's voice had carried to where Smoky had been
grazing, and the little horse had stopped grinding on his feed soon as
the first verse had hit his ears, he'd listened on thru to the end,
nickered, and watched the fire on the creek bottom from where the voice
had come.
He watched it long into the night till all was quiet and the fire had
dwindled down to coals; time for first night guard to be relieved was
near and Smoky was still watching. Pecos was dozing off a ways, and
pretty soon Smoky begin to feel a little groggy too and he dozed with
him.
* * * * *
A new day was no more than hinted by the paling sky to the east when
the "nighthawk" begin bunching the ponies and hazing 'em towards camp.
It was still faint daylight when the catch ropes was a hissing over the
ponies' heads once again and loops settled around slick necks. Broncs
was drug out, and a fighting against the saddle while the sun was still
back of the ridges, but the day's work had started at the round up camp.
In a short while the remuda was let out again, and the day wrangler
started grazing 'em while the outfit broke camp for other grounds.
When all was loaded in the big wagons the pilot took the lead, and when
the sun showed up to begin its circle up above, the cook had already
moved his kitchen some ten miles and the pots was beginning to feel the
heat of the fire underneath.
Smoky was in another new country that day, and as he grazed with the
remuda he noticed the same workings of the day before, another big
herd was brought in from that morning's "circle," then one more that
afternoon, more cattle was cut out and then singed hair floated on the
breeze once more.
Twice again he was corralled with the remuda for fresh horses the
riders was needing, and the little horse was slow beginning to get used
to the sound of the ropes and the sight of the strange cowboys. Clint
was to see him at the last coralling of the day and when the nighthawk
took the ponies out for the night Smoky nipped Pecos in the flanks. He
felt playful.
Outside of the time he spent in the rope corral the little horse was
enjoying the following of the round up mighty well,--there was always
so many horses around, and all with the bellering of the big herds and
the dust that was kept up sure tallied up with the beat of his heart.
He hadn't figgered on what to expect being one of the remuda that way,
and being that he couldn't make out all that went on he didn't know
just what could be expected, and that's why maybe he wasn't worried
much.
"Going to make a very big circle this morning, Jeff?"
It was the morning of the third day that Clint asked the foreman that
question, and when Jeff answered he understood what was on Clint's
mind, he grinned at the cowboy as he spoke.
"You go ahead and ride your Smoky horse, Clint, I'll put you on the
inside circle so as it won't be too hard on him."
And that's how come when it was Smoky's turn to be rode that the
easiest was handed him. The horse spotted Clint coming towards him, a
rope was in his hands but no loop was dragging and he met the cowboy
halfways.
Of the many ponies that makes up a "remuda" there's seldom any that can
be walked up to, even the gentlest has to be roped. They're broke that
way and it all saves time, for a cowboy can stand off thirty feet, rope
his horse and start leading him out from there. It saves him many steps
and when there's so many riders and horses, them steps and the time
it'd take to make 'em sure would accumulate. Then again there's so many
wild ponies that would _have_ to be roped anyway. So making the whole
thing simple, every horse is caught with a loop. No good roper ever
whirls a loop in catching horses, and the only sound that's heard is
when the rope splits from the ground to the pony's head.
Once in a while, and even with real cow outfits that's well run,
there's exceptions in roping every horse that way. Smoky was the one
exception on the Rocking R, and every cowboy was good natured jealous
at the way that mouse colored son of a gun of a horse would stick his
head out every time Clint came around and then left his hiding place
from amongst the other horses to meet him.
Smoky knowed that something was up soon as Clint came near him, but
whatever it was he was anxious to be at it;--him and that cowboy would
get along.
The little horse humped up as he felt the cinch, and Clint grinned as
he remarked:
"Going to make this old broke-down cowboy ride this morning, huh?"
And Smoky did. He bogged his head soon as Clint was well set, and
bucked and bellered all over the flat like he was a man eating outlaw.
It was the right thing for a live horse to do them cold fall mornings,
and Clint was enjoying fanning the dust off Smoky's round rump the
same as that pony enjoyed the idea that he sure was giving somebody a
tossing.
"Better save some of that," says Clint as he finally pulled Smoky's
head up, "cause you might need all the energy you got before you get
back."
About twelve miles or so from camp a knoll was reached; from there Jeff
"scattered" his riders to circle and comb the country on the way back,
Clint and another rider was the last to be let go, and on the "inside"
brought with 'em all the cattle they found. Half ways back to camp,
Smoky begin to notice big dusts on both sides of him, them dusts kept
a getting closer and closer till pretty soon he begin to see that it
was more cattle making them dusts. Herds kept a being drove in with the
bunch Clint and the other rider had rounded up, and by the time camp
was reached, all the dusts had throwed in and made one. Twenty or more
riders and over a thousand head of cattle was turned to the cutting
grounds and held there a milling.
Smoky was tired, he'd been breathing dust and turning bleary-eyed
critters till it seemed like there'd be no end. Besides it felt awful
hot on his back where the saddle was, and even tho Clint often got off,
uncinched the saddle and raised it so the cool air could circulate
thru, it wasn't long when his back, not used to long saddling, would
feel as hot as ever again.
It was a great relief to the little horse when the saddle was pulled
off as they reached camp and the rope corral. Clint then led him to the
creek and washed the dry sweat off his back with the cool water, and as
that was done Smoky right away forgot the work of that first circle.
He felt a lot at ease with everything in general as Clint turned him
loose in the corral, and a while later when fresh horses was caught
and ropes begin sailing again, Smoky wasn't for hunting a hole like
the times before, he felt that he'd done his.--Pecos was snared while
standing a few feet from him, and then the ponies was turned loose.
But there Smoky lagged behind a little; he'd spotted Clint who was
saddling another horse, and he stood in his tracks, watching, and maybe
wondering. Then the wrangler came, and Smoky followed the remuda up the
draw.
Plenty of grass, under, and all around him, and chance to stand still
was for the first time appreciated by the mouse colored gelding.
He'd had a taste of real work, the first taste, and with it had come
the feeling that he wasn't no half broke bronc no more. He was even
beginning to look at the critter with a knowing eye and something was
sprouting up in him which left no doubt but what _he_ was the boy that
could handle 'er.
He never figgered on how much there was to learn in the ways of
handling that split-hoofed range animal,--he'd had no way to know as
yet, and as it was he grazed feeling sure that he knowed a lot about
'em. He felt equal to the old saddle marked cowhorses that was in the
same remuda and he wouldn't have nothing to do with the raw broncs that
was mixed in. But there that high opinion of himself was stopped, for
the old cowhorses wouldn't let him associate with 'em and as they'd
chase him away, he failed to notice that they felt the same about him
as he did about the uneddicated raw broncs.
But then, credit had to be handed to the little horse on account that
even tho he still had a powerful lot to learn, he sure was all for
learning, and the pride he'd naturally took in the game along with the
coaching of such a cowboy as Clint all promised that he'd sure get
there.
Smoky watched every herd that came in, followed the wagon on its
everyday move, and was even getting used to them ropes that sung over
his head three or four times a day. Of course Clint was always on hand
at each corralling to kind of help him get used to all the commotion,
and came a time when the little horse knowed exactly where and which
side of the corral that cowboy would be. His saddle was always on the
ground a few feet on the outside, and every horse he caught to ride
would always be led or "snaked" to that same spot, and Smoky got so
that whenever he was corralled he'd make a rush for that one spot where
he could easy reach Clint's shirt whenever the attention of that cowboy
was needed.
Each rider on the outfit was furnished on the average of ten horses;
there was anyway three changes of horses every day which made it that
every horse was rode from four to six hours every third day, and that's
how Smoky's turn came. Clint rode him out on "circle" three times, and
till the little horse got pretty well onto the hazing of the critter,
and then that pony was of a sudden promoted to the "day-herd" class. Of
course Smoky was somewhat of a privileged character or he wouldn't made
that so soon, but the way he took holt of the bit and went to work he
sure didn't disappoint Clint any.
The promotion started when that cowboy thought of trying him out one
day as a big herd was brought in to work. He'd changed his tired
"circle" horse to Smoky, and after that pony had his buck out he lined
him out to a standstill close to the milling critters. It was Clint's
and Smoky's job to see that none broke away outside of what was cut out
to be held for the "main herd." A dozen other riders was on the same
job and most all riding well reined cowhorses, and as Smoky noticed the
kind of company he was keeping, a ticklish feeling came between his
ears and a spark showed in his eyes.
He was about at the height of his glory and hardly able to stay on
earth, when, quick as the eye could see, a big raw-boned steer broke
out, and wild-eyed dodged past the riders and hightailed it out for
open country. In the trance Smoky was in he hardly seen anything of the
critter but a flash, but as the earth had no strings on him either just
then it only took a feel of the rein for him to be up and a flying.
That flash that went past him a second before was recognized as an
earthly critter soon as Smoky set eyes on 'er, and soon as he got the
hunch that that critter needed turning the distance between was et up
the same as tho that horse had been starving for such.
There was a mighty satisfied smile on Clint's face as the steer was
shot back in the herd the same way he'd come out, and as for Smoky,
there sure was nothing about him that suggested "the end of the trail."
He was brought to a mighty proud standstill by the herd again, and no
critter broke out that he wasn't right on the tail of from the start,
unless it was in some other rider's territory.
Working the herds that was drove to the cutting grounds, and holding
the day herd, was from then on Smoky's work. He liked working the herds
best on account there was more to do, but then day herding wasn't so
bad either, Clint always seen that his rope was kept well stretched,
and soon as he knowed the foreman was gone on circle with the other
riders he could easy find some critter he had a grudge against and pile
his rope onto, and Smoky sure enjoyed turning 'em over.
All the boys, excepting the "reps" from other outfits, had one half a
day of day herding every three days. Smoky's time to be rode came on
the dot of that time, but Clint didn't always take him out on that, and
often he'd switch so that the little horse would get plenty of work
cutting out or bringing big calves and "slicks" to the branding fire,
and that pony was sure beginning to shine there.
Once in a while tho Clint would get sort of selfish and want Smoky's
company on that long half a day's herding, and it was during them
spells that the two got to be more understanding, if that's possible,
to one another. Neither was so rushed for work then, and there was
times when the big herd of beef steers and cows and weaners would want
to graze and not try to drift away or scatter. At them times Clint
would rein Smoky up a knoll, and where both could see the whole of the
herd, he'd get out of his saddle and stretch out in the shade Smoky
made and take it easy, and there, with one eye on the cowboy the other
on the herd, and swishing flies, Smoky would stand.