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Read Ebook: Cowboy Dave; Or The Round-up at Rolling River by Webster Frank V
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Ebook has 1497 lines and 42684 words, and 30 pages
"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?"
THE TAUNT
Pocus Pete shaded his eyes with his hand and gazed long and earnestly in the direction indicated by Dave Carson. The two cow-ponies, evidently glad of the little rest, nosed about the sun-baked earth for some choice morsel of grass.
"It might be either--or both," Pete finally said.
"Either or both?" repeated Dave. "How can that be?"
"Don't you see two specks there, Dave? Look ag'in."
Dave looked. His eyes were younger and perhaps, therefore, sharper than were those of the foreman of Bar U ranch, but Dave lacked the training that long years on the range had given the other.
"Yes, I do see two," the youth finally said, "But I can't tell which is which."
"I'm not altogether sure myself," Pete said, quietly and modestly. "We'll ride a little nearer," he suggested, "an' then we can tell for sure. I guess we're on th' track of some strays all right."
"Some strays, Pete? You mean our strays; don't you?" questioned Dave.
"Well, some of 'em 'll be, probably," was the quiet answer. "But you've got t' remember, Dave, that there's a point of land belongin' t' Centre O ranch that comes up there along the Forked Branch trail. It may be some of Molick's strays."
"That's so. I didn't think of that, Pete. There's more to this business than appears at first sight."
"Yes, Dave; but you're comin' on first-rate. I was a leetle opposed to th' Old Man sendin' you East to study, for fear it would knock out your natural instincts. But when you picked up that man as soon as you did," and he waved his hand toward the distant specks, "when you did that, I know you've not been spoiled, an' that there's hope for you."
"That's good, Pete!" and Dave laughed.
"Yes, I didn't agree with th' Old Man at first," the foreman went on, "but I see he didn't make any mistake."
Mr. Carson was the "Old Man" referred to, but it was not at all a term of disrespect as applied to the ranch owner. It was perfectly natural to Pete to use that term, and Dave did not resent it.
"Yes, I'm glad dad did send me East," the young man went on, as they continued on their way up the trail. "I was mighty lonesome at first, and I felt--well, cramped, Pete. That's the only way to express it."
"I know how you felt, Dave. There wasn't room to breathe in th' city."
"That's the way I felt. Out here it--it's different."
He straightened up in the saddle, and drew in deep breaths of the pure air of the plains; an air so pure and thin, so free from mists, that the very distances were deceiving, and one would have been positive that the distant foot-hills were but half an hour's ride away, whereas the better part of a day must be spent in reaching them.
"Yes, this is livin'--that's what it is," agreed Pocus Pete. "You can make them out a little better now, Dave," and he nodded his head in the direction of the two distant specks. They were much larger now.
"It's a chap on a horse, and he's going in the same direction we are," Dave said, after a moment's observation.
"That's right. And it ain't every cowpuncher on Bar U who could have told that."
"I can see two--three--why, there are half a dozen cattle up there Pete."
"Yes, an' probably more. I reckon some of th' Centre O outfit has strayed, same as ours. That's probably one of Molick's men after his brand," Pete went on.
The Bar U ranch adjoined, on the north, the ranch of Jason Molick, whose cattle were marked with a large O in the centre of which was a single dot, and his brand consequently, was known as Centre O.
"Maybe that's Len," suggested Dave, naming the son of the adjoining ranch owner.
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