Chapter XV THE FATAL THROW

 THE shack talk, together with the roundup preparations, touched off the growing desire in Dick and Fred to become “crack cowboys.” Dick especially was stirred to a high pitch of enthusiasm. He seized every chance to practice the arts of roping and riding, so that when the chance came to display his skill he might not be called a tenderfoot.   It happened that a day or two after the night just pictured, Dick galloped into Fred’s herd feeding quietly on the flat, and began the cutting out act, dashing here and there on Ginger, his buckskin pony, a bright little beast at the cow business, and leading the cows a merry chase. Fred, hearing the noise, emerged from the willows on Brownie to learn the cause.   Dick immediately challenged him to a test of skill at roping. Fred hesitated. He knew that it was not a good thing to fret his herd; but he finally yielded to Dick’s bantering, handed over{162} his rope, for Dick happened to have none, and the sport began.   For an hour or more the boys kept chasing through the herd on their ponies, casting the lasso at the excited cattle. Now and again they landed well; but oftener they failed to land at all. Several times they tripped up some charging heifer rather cleverly. It was great sport,—for the boys. They so lost themselves in the fun of it that dusk was on them before they had noticed how the day was slipping away.   “Here, Dick,” called Fred, suddenly realizing the work before him to gather his scattered herd, “we’ll have to stop this business and put for home.”   “Oh, cut it, I’m goin’ to snub that black devil ’fore we quit.”   “Leave her alone,” Fred shouted, “or you’ll get into trouble.”   Dick’s response to this warning was to strike straight for the spirited heifer, his rope swinging round his head. A wicked dig of his spurs in Ginger’s ribs brought him within rope’s length. He flung at her front legs; but as luck would have it, the lasso caught round her neck. In a flash Dick wound the rope round his saddle horn, his pony checked speed, stopped short, and braced himself; the heifer was jerked squarely{163} about; but maddened with fright at being suddenly snubbed, she flung back and struggled frantically to free herself from the strangling rope. Dick was in a dilemma. He could not let go without losing the lariat and the heifer wouldn’t let him slip it off.   Fred dashed up to help him, and jumped off Brownie to loose the lasso, but just as he reached to grab hold of it at the choking heifer’s neck, she plunged wildly; and Dick, taken unawares, let slip his hold. The rope scorched through his fingers. The heifer, finding herself free, dashed away through a thicket of willows, dragging the lariat. Before Fred could leap on Brownie she had disappeared.   “Go it, you bitch, go!” shouted Dick, nursing his rope-burnt fingers.   “Let’s get her quick,” called Fred; “she’ll get tangled and kill herself in that brush.”   “Oh, to hell with her! I’m not going to scratch my eyes out in that thicket to-night. Let ’er go; she’ll turn up all right. Let’s rustle the rest and hike for camp. I’m hungry.”   Fred hesitated a moment, full of trouble. “No,” he said decidedly, “I’ll find that heifer first. You can help or not, just as you please. It’s all your fault.” He struck off in the direction the heifer had taken.{164}   “All my fault, eh!” bawled Dick after him; “well, you’ll hunt your own cows for that cut, kid”; and giving a whoop, he struck for camp, leaving Fred to wrestle with his trouble alone.   The boy beat about the savage brush till darkness forced him to quit; then he turned to rally the rest of his scattered herd. Luck served him better here, for they had gathered themselves after their chasing and were slowly trailing across the flat toward home. A ray of hope came that he might find the missing heifer among them; but the hope was vain. He was up early next morning, expectant to see that she had wandered back. She was not there. He planned to spend the day searching; but Cap Hanks ordered the herd to the pasture that morning, and set Fred helping get the roundup outfit into shape.   “I’d like to hunt up a heifer that was missing last night,” Fred suggested rather nervously.   “Heifer missin’—hell you say! You oughter watched ’em closer. Never mind, let ’er go. You help Pat sling things together; the boys’ll pick the straggler up.”   Fred was prompted right then to make a clean breast of the business, but the echo of these words flashed over him: “Don’t be a cow-baby,{165} don’t beller.” He held down his impulse and turned to his new work.   Dick knew that he had played a mean trick. His conscience stung him a little as he dashed away, leaving Fred to hunt in the darkness, but his foolish pride kept his manliness from asserting itself. He would not turn back.   In happy-go-lucky fashion Dick drifted along in the easier currents of life, trusting to luck to bring things out for him.   “Let ’er go; she’ll turn up all right,” was expressive of his attitude toward life. The thought of harm coming to the poor beast might have crossed his mind; but if it did, he did not care. And as to further trouble for himself,—“Oh, well, even if the kid does beller,” he thought, “I’ll get out of it all right. The rope ain’t mine.”   But he had no need to fear. Fred was fully determined not to tell on him.