THE ROUND-UP
Judy Hornby did not return to the Circle O ranch that day nor the
next, and when she did she was not nearly so talkative as before.
The girl, however, listened eagerly to all that her new-found
friends had to say to her, and what they said was intended to be
helpful to this unusual young woman who had known little
companionship of her own sex.
After a time her tongue loosened a little and she told them that
“Pap” had forbidden her to visit them unless he told her to go. Judy
declared that she didn’t give a rap whether he liked it or not, and
that she was going to ride over to the Circle O ranch whenever she
felt like it.
“He don’t dast do nothing to me anyway. I reckon it’s because I
tried that ‘impond’able’ thing on him. When he asked me where I got
it an’ I told him over here, you ought to seen him git mad. Pap sure
was a scream. Lemme look at your hair,” she added abruptly,
addressing Miss Briggs, who nodded good-naturedly.
“Gosh! Ain’t that fine? But for the love of Mike, how do you do it?”
“I will do yours if you wish,” offered Elfreda.
“Would you?”
“Of course,” answered J. Elfreda. “Sit down and I will see what I
can do with it. You have beautiful hair, and I am not eager to see
you wear it any other way than you do now—down your back.”
Greatly to the amusement of her companions, Miss Briggs performed an
elaborate piece of hair-dressing, building up a wonderful tower of
shining brown on the mountain girl’s head. Then a mirror was brought
and Judy was permitted to look at the result, the Overlanders
awaiting the verdict in silent expectancy.
Judy gazed into the mirror for some moments before looking up.
“Gosh-a’mighty, I’m a lady now for sure, ain’t I?” she breathed,
heaving a deep sigh.
After a time the Overland girls sought to explain to her that it was
not the dress she wore nor the way she wore her hair, but her
breeding, that made the lady. Judy listened attentively to the brief
lecture read to her by Grace and Elfreda, then started for home,
this time at a slow jog. Judy was in a thoughtful mood.
For the next week she was a daily visitor at the Circle O ranch.
Hippy Wingate was again on his feet, but still wearing a bandage on
his head and walking with a cane. His companions were in no haste to
leave him; in fact they had been waiting for his recovery quite
willingly because they had been urged by Bindloss to stay for the
round-up that was now close at hand, when the cattle would be
rounded up into herds and the fat ones cut out, branded again and
driven to a shipping point for market. Bindloss promised his guests
a lively time. The cowpunchers, too, were looking forward to the
occasion with more than their ordinary interest, for in it they saw
an opportunity to show their horsemanship and skill to the Overland
girls.
Judy Hornby was invited to accompany the party to the round-up, but
for some reason she refused, and went away that day with her face
dark and resentful. The Overlanders were at a loss to account for
the sudden change in her.
The day of the big round-up arrived, and the ranch presented a scene
of activity long before daylight that morning. There was much
equipment to be shipped down the valley, for the first herd to be
rounded up were grazing more than twenty miles away, not very far
from Judy’s log-cabin home, where her father had quite a herd of
cattle of his own, though small compared with the Bindloss herds.
His brand was the “Double Q” while Bindloss’s was the “Circle O.”
Lieutenant Wingate, not feeling able to take the long ride, decided
to remain at the ranch-house until one of the herds near by was
rounded up. He could watch the round-up, then easily get back to the
ranch-house should he find it necessary to do so. There being no
reason for Jim-Sam’s remaining at the ranch, Bindloss accepted their
offer to assist in the round-up.
“I am going to help, too,” promised Emma, as they were eating
breakfast in camp next morning with Bindloss as their guest.
“No, you ain’t,” replied the rancher. “You keep out of it and stay
where you’re safe. There’s some wild ones in the bunch we are going
after today.”
Tom Gray was accepted as a novice, and a pony that knew the ropes
was assigned to him for the work. Bindloss told him that so long as
he gave the animal its head he would be reasonably safe.
The Overlanders got a later start than the others, but managed to
get away shortly after daybreak. It was a wonderful ride through the
fragrant morning air, one that every member of the party thoroughly
enjoyed. Hippy in the meantime was having a glorious morning,
too—snoring in the ranch-house, where he proposed to remain all day
and have “peace and quiet,” as he expressed it.
As they neared the scene of the round-up, near mid-forenoon, the
Overlanders rode up the first bluff of the foothills, as they had
been directed to do, and then followed along parallel with the
valley. As they drew near they suddenly found themselves gazing down
upon the scene that they had come so far to see—a western round-up.
A great herd—thousands of them, it seemed—were milling about on
the plain below them, making the dust fly in suffocating clouds,
while wilder ones of the herd were galloping for the foothills.
Calves were running about bawling for their mothers, and frantic
cows were splitting the herd in search of them. Above the din rose
shrill and clear the calls of the cowpunchers, calls that were
familiar, especially to the steers, who seemed to know the meaning
of them even if they did do exactly the opposite to what was
expected of them.
Up and down the rolling foothills raced the long-horns, with ponies
ridden by yelling, shouting, dare-devil riders, in pursuit. Here and
there a lasso wriggled through the air, spun by an irate cowboy, and
a big steer went down on his nose.
A bunch of wild steers raced past the Overlanders, and Stacy,
suddenly deciding that it was his duty to drive them back, galloped
after them.
The fat boy soon found himself in the midst of a charging, bellowing
mass of wild steers whose long horns and threatening jabs at his
mustang, made him wish that he had kept out of it. He was in a more
perilous position than he realized. The girls were shouting for him
to come back, but in the uproar Stacy did not hear them, nor could
he have obeyed had he heard.
Two-gun Pete was the first to discover the boy’s predicament. He
came flashing up the grade, past the girls, but without looking at
them, and rode on until he had reached the herd. There he began
uttering shrill yells that were heard above the uproar. Pete, at the
risk of his pony’s life, if not his own, dodged in and out until he
got to the side of the fat boy.
“Hot-foot it out of this, you tenderfoot!” he roared.
“All right. Show me the way, you cowpuncher!” flung back Stacy.
“Follow me, but not too close.” Pete, exerting mighty efforts, soon
split the herd apart, and into the opening thus made, Stacy rode
without further urging, and in a few moments he was clear of the
herd. “Now git back with ye and stay back!”
Now that he was up there, Pete decided to head off the wild bunch.
He rode his sweating mustang until it seemed as if he would ride the
little animal off its feet, and little by little he bunched the
unruly steers and started them towards the valley, when they
suddenly headed straight for the position occupied by the
Overlanders.
“They’ll run us down!” cried Nora.
“No! We can get away if they get too close. Ride for them and yell
like all possessed. Try to turn them to their left,” urged Grace.
The Overland girls, fired with the same spirit that was urging the
cowpunchers in their work, started forward at a gallop, waving their
sombreros and uttering such screeches as probably not only
astounded, but frightened the outlaw steers. The cattle, however,
held to their course just the same. Two-gun Pete saw and understood
what the girls were trying to do. He also understood full well the
risk they were taking. Pete pealed out a shrill, far-reaching
warning, but they did not hear.
“Yell, you Overlanders!” screamed Elfreda Briggs, and, taking her
own advice, she uttered yell after yell, that Two-gun Pete later
declared on his honor as a cowpuncher frightened one tough old
maverick to death. At least the animal was found dead at about that
point, later on in the day.
J. Elfreda evidently turned the tide, for a leader swerved, and the
herd followed him and went plunging down the slope.
“Hot stuff, but don’t ye do it again!” shouted the cowboy as he
followed the herd down the foothill and out into the valley, where
other cowpunchers came to his assistance and rounded it up.
The girls, now that the excitement was ended, suddenly felt weak in
the knees. They realized that they had taken a desperate chance, and
that they had not been unhorsed, and perhaps gored to death, was due
to great good luck, and to the far-reaching power of the dignified
Elfreda Briggs’ voice, rather than to any skill on their part.
“That was a fool thing to do,” observed Stacy, who now came trotting
up to them.
“Why, you unappreciative creature!” rebuked Emma. “Don’t you know
that we were trying to save your life?”
“Save nothing!” growled Stacy.
“Thank you,” bowed Emma. “I could not have said it better myself,”
whereupon the other girls laughed merrily, and Stacy drew off by
himself where he sat sullenly observing the work going on below him.
All day the milling about, the cutting-out, the yells and the
bellows, with here and there a sharp encounter between cowboy and an
ugly steer, continued without a let-up. No one thought of eating.
There was too much work to be done, and even the Overlanders forgot
their noon luncheon which they had brought with them.
At twilight the cowmen were still busy, but by this time they had
several hundred animals in the big corral, and in another a bunch of
stock for branding, while out on the range as many more animals were
stirring about restlessly. Campfires began to spring up here and
there, over which tired riders cooked their slender suppers and
rested before taking up the work of the night. This work included
branding and keeping rounded-up the stock left out on the range.
Bindloss joined the Overlanders at their coffee and bacon. He was
covered with dust and his voice was hoarse from yelling at cattle
and at his riders.
“How long is this thing going to continue?” questioned Stacy Brown.
“All night, young feller. Of course things will quiet down ’long
’bout midnight. We’ve got to get some rest, you know.”
Grace said she thought that they should be starting back towards
camp after supper, but Bindloss shook his head.
“Some of the men will be going in later in the evening. I’d rather
have you folks wait and ride in with them,” he said, but without
giving any reason for the request. “You can ride ’bout after supper,
but keep away from milling bunches, and see the sights. You’ll be
interested in the branding, if you’ve never seen it done.”
Soon after supper the girls of the party, accompanied by Stacy, rode
down the valley. There they scattered somewhat, Emma first having
discovered Two-gun Pete and stopping to talk with him. Stacy rode
on, saying that he wished to see the rest of the show.
Pete told Emma that he did not like the way the cattle had been
acting that day. He averred that something had been stirring them up
of late, but reckoned it must be a mountain lion that had been
trying to get the calves. Whether or not the beast had succeeded he
said he did not know, for no one knew how many calves there were in
any of the herds.
Two-gun Pete had work to do, so Emma rode on and joined her
companions whom she found chatting with the owner of the ranch, who
sat his pony surveying the activity that was everywhere. They
wondered how he could make anything out of all the confusion in the
darkness, which the many little fires merely accentuated. Joe
Bindloss, however, knew exactly what was going on at all points of
the round-up.
Idaho Jones interrupted the conversation when he came galloping up
to the party.
“Hey, Boss!” he called. “I been lookin’ all over fer ye.” The voice
of the cowpuncher held an urgent note that each member of the party
before him felt.
“Eh? What’s wrong?” demanded Bindloss sharply.
“Pop Skinner jest rode in, an’ he’s lookin’ fer ye hot-foot. He says
as he reckons thar’s trouble up in the valley.”
“What about?”
“He didn’t wait to tell me.”
“Find him—find him and fetch him here almighty quick! Hump
yourself!” commanded Bindloss.
“Co—o-o-o-o! Pop, heah,” yelled Idaho, his quick eye discovering
the man for whom he was looking, and out of the darkness shot a gray
mustang bearing down on them. “Thar he is now.”
“What’s wrong?” shouted Bindloss.
“I don’t reckon as I know, Boss, but as I was comin’ down to jine
the outfit heah, I runned across Sallie guardin’ the number six
herd. He said as he’d seen a bunch of riders come out of the
foothills, ’bout four mile above heah an’ head off in the direction
of the ranch an’ he thought ye better know ’bout it. As I was comin’
down anyway, I made a hustle. ’Bout half way down I heard rifle
shots up-valley. Thet’s all I knows ’bout it, but I reckoned you
ought to know.”
“Get Pete and all the other fellers you can skin in a hurry and
light out for the ranch. There’s trouble, and I’ve felt it somehow
all day!”
While Bindloss was giving his orders another cowpuncher rode in on a
pony that was dripping lather. He, too, was from somewhere up the
Coso Valley and he was excited.
“They’ve attacked the ranch, Boss!” he fairly flung at Bindloss.
“Who’s attacked it?” roared the rancher.
“Don’t know nothin’ ’bout thet, but I seen an’ heard the firin’ and
thar’s the old Harry to pay up thar.”
Idaho had already ridden away to gather a bunch of his fellows for
the ride back to the ranch, and while this was being done Bindloss
eagerly questioned the two men who had brought him evil tidings.
Perhaps Bindloss had an idea as to who the men from the mountain
were, but if so he did not inform the disturbed Overlanders. They
were thinking of Hippy up there alone in the ranch-house, himself
suffering from wounds and perhaps helpless in the hands of a band of
mountain ruffians.
“We must go!” cried Nora.
“Yes, we will go,” answered Grace. “I wish I could find Tom.”
“They’ll get him,” answered Bindloss. “You’ll have to ride some if
you keep up with the cowpunchers, and this ain’t no pleasure trip
neither. Here they come!”
Pete was leading the party of rough-riders that came racing towards
him, and with them was Tom Gray. His companions of the Overland
party hardly recognized him, for his clothes were covered with dust
and his face was streaked where the perspiration had trickled
through the grime.
“Orders, Boss?” called Pete.
“Ride! Ride the cayuses to death, but get there, that’s all. Go!”
The cowboys pulled their mustangs and fairly lifted them, rearing
and wheeling, and were off like projectiles, fierce fires burning in
every cowboy heart, and the lust for battle and revenge taking full
possession of them.
The Overland Riders were not many seconds behind them in starting,
nor did they have to urge their mustangs, who were as eager as they
to keep up with the reckless riders ahead, riders that were using
spur and voice in the wild night ride up the Coso Valley.