Chapter XVI THE ROUNDUP

 WITH this determination in his troubled head, Fred plunged into his task of helping Pat get the “chuck wagon” ready for the trip. The day had begun badly, vexations of various sorts kept on plaguing them, till even jolly old Pat lost his temper.   “Holy mither of Moses!” he broke loose, “and where’s the rist of me tin china? Hev them bloomin’ cow-punchers swallowed dish an’ all wid their praties? It’s no more than half my utensils I can dig up at all, at all.” He gave way to an outburst of profanity that made Fred stare. Suddenly he stopped short:—“Hold on, Patsy, me boy. That’s enough. Now cast the divil out of ye—cast him out, I say.” Pat grabbed his flask of whisky as he spoke, and took a drink. “There!” he said solemnly, “that’s better. Me feelin’s and me conscience are both relaved. There’s nuthin’ loike good spirits for castin’ out the divil, me boy. Here’s to make sure!” A long drink{167} followed, while Fred broke into a laugh that loosed the tension of his worry and made things go better. They pitched in then and soon had things ready.   A few hours later they were on the road, Pat driving the team at a lusty trot, while Fred, trailing the extra saddle horses, jogged along in the dust behind. The sun was still several hours above the western hills when they reached the rendezvous. Two other outfits had already arrived, and another swung into camp shortly afterward.   The team unhitched, and another pony caught to relieve Brownie, Pat and Fred began hurriedly to get supper for the hungry range riders, who, they knew, would shortly begin to straggle in as hungry as wolves. A big quaking aspen fire was soon talking cheerily, and it was not long before the bacon and “praties” were singing in the frying pans, while the Dutch ovens were doing duty to put a tempting brown on the baking powder batter that had been poured into them.   The sun had just slipped behind a bank of flaming clouds that hovered above the western hills, when the first herd of cattle was driven in, and a half-dozen cowboys whooped into camp. Too ravenous to wait, they began to attack the smoking food. Half an hour later,{168} another bunch came; and from then on till midnight the cooks were kept busy with feeding the cowboys that continued to drift in.   “Be jabers, and it’s worse than a short order café,” complained Pat. “This ‘meals at all hours’ will keep the cook up all night, I’m thinkin’.” But he kept bravely at it till all of the boys were fed.   Night herders were posted to keep the big bunch of cattle within bounds. The “horse wranglers” were assigned their watch, and the other tired men, pillowing their heads on coats and saddles, tucked their blankets about them and slept like logs under the star-sown sky.   Nothing unusual happened that night. Daylight broke to find the cattle still somewhat nervous, but manageable. The horses were grazing peacefully not far away; while half a dozen weary cowboys clung about the herd, half asleep in their saddles.   After a time the cooks began to get busy, and one after another the sleeping cow-punchers got up, “sayin’ their prayers backwards,” as Pat put it, by damning themselves and the world in general as they stretched and yawned, and waited for breakfast.   Sunrise found them all awake, fed, and ready for business. Saddling their ponies, they struck{169} for the herd as lively as the bucking bronchos that they rode.   Fred was given the task at first to herd the extra horses; but Noisy happened to get pitched from his pony, sustaining a sprained ankle, and he was given this lighter task, while Fred, much to his joy, was sent to help Dan, Dick, and Jim cut out the Bar B cattle from the big herd, which was now bunched rather compactly on the flat, with cowboys circled about it.   The term “roundup” has a rather romantic connotation. It has gathered a picturesque meaning. All the cowboy life seems to focus in this crowning part of his work. The excitement of the chase, the tests of skill with rope and horse, the grit and daring of it all, added to the unexpected that always happens—so thrill and fill the roundup with significance that it is small wonder this time has come to stand out so distinctly as the cowboy’s carnival.   Fred came to this, his first roundup, with joyous anticipation. His reading of cowboy stories, so-called, had given him a good many impressions that needed correcting. Before the day had passed he found out that there is more reality than romance in the roundup.   All day long, amid the bawling roar of the excited herd, in clouds of choking dust, whipped{170} up by the shifting cattle and plunging horses, the cutting out went on. From early morn till just before dark, the dust-covered, sweat-streaked men and ponies kept up their struggle to separate the cattle that belonged to their respective ranches from the rest of the big bellowing bunch.   Slowly the watchful rider and horse, working together like a centaur, would circle the herd till the right mark or brand was spied. A touch of the rider’s heel and the horse would leap straight toward the animal that bore the brand, pushing in among the restless cattle till close upon the picked “critter,” and there the horse would stay till the cow was crowded to the edge and forced to break from the herd, to be rushed with a whoop, at cow-gallop, pell-mell across the flat to the growing bunch where she belonged.   Dan and Jim were adept at the business. Their trained horses, too, showed almost human intelligence. Chief was especially skillful. Once he sighted his victim, he clung to its flanks like a leech, turning, twisting, following its every move till he chased it home. Dick and Fred, given the task of helping hold the main herd, had no part at the beginning in the “cutting out”; but after a time Dan, to give{171} Chief a rest, told them to go into the fun for a while. Both of them leaped at the chance, and they managed fairly well for “tenderfeet.”   But it wasn’t all fun. They went at it nervously and soon both they and their horses were ready to quit. Noon came and passed. There was no stopping for dinner. The dust grew thicker as they grew hungrier. Their tempers began to get a rough edge; and occasionally they let loose their ugly feelings.   Fred was sent to help hold the Bar B herd. The big bunch had dwindled to a handful. Finally the last cow was cut out and Dick and Jim brought her whooping across the flat. For a closing flourish as they plunged up to their herd, they jerked out their revolvers and emptied them into the air. The nervous cattle jumped as if shot and bolted across the flat with the boys full chase behind them. Fred was on Brownie, who was straining every nerve to get ahead and turn the herd, when suddenly she lurched and fell, throwing the boy over her head. The herd swept on. Fred lay dazed for a moment, then he rose and went to his little mare. She had staggered to her feet and stood trembling with pain. The boy was stunned to find one of her front legs broken. A badger hole had done its wicked work. The boy turned heartsick;{172} he threw his arms about the suffering animal’s neck and cried like a child.   Jim was the first to find the boy in his trouble.   “It’s a damned shame, Teddy, and it’s all my doin’s, damme. I orter had better sense. But brace up, boy; brace up. I’ll do the square thing.”   Dan and Dick had ridden up. Dan leaped from his horse and examined the broken leg carefully.   “No use,” he shook his head soberly; “the little mare’s done for. There’s just one thing left to do, Fred; you must end her sufferings quickly.”   “Oh, I can’t do it; I can’t do it!” replied Fred, chokingly.   “Come, don’t beller,” blurted Dick. “Gimme a gun. I’ll do it.”   “No, you don’t,” said Fred, with a touch of anger. “If she has to die, no heartless cuss shall kill her.” He paused—then turning to Dan asked feelingly—“Won’t you please do it for me?”   “If you wish it, my boy.”   Fred stroked the suffering mare’s forehead, and laid his face against her glossy brown cheek. She pressed his face gently in response to his sympathy, then he turned quickly and walked{173} hurriedly toward camp, never once looking back. The boys sat silent, respecting his sorrow, all but Dick. His face carried a flush of anger and the suggestion of a sneer, which made Jim say, when Fred was out of hearing,   “That was damned mean of you, Dick, to jeer at a man in trouble.”   Dick winced, but held his tongue.   Fred had just reached the camp wagon, when Dan’s revolver was heard. Brownie’s sufferings were over; this was the one comforting thought that echoed through his brain through the long gloomy night.   Jim and Dan planned to get the boys to “chip in” and buy Fred another saddle horse; but before they could put their generous thoughts into execution, both of them were sent with the beef steers to the shipping point, three days’ drive away. When they returned, Fred had left the ranch. No one knew where he had gone.   It happened in this way. He was sitting out on the corral fence one day with Cap Hanks and Dick, when suddenly the foreman turned on Dick and asked, “Have you been ropin’ any cattle around this ranch?”   “No,” said Dick, a little confused.   “Well, some one has,” said the foreman, “for Jim found one of the blooded heifers up{174} the creek strangled to death with this rope on, and he says that the string belongs to you.”   “Don’t know a damned thing about it,” said Dick. “The rope ain’t mine, that’s dead sure.”   “Well, Teddy, it’s up to you. Is this your lasso?”   “Yes, sir, it is.”   “Then you roped the heifer?”   “No, sir, I didn’t.”   “Who did?”   “It’s not my place to tell.”   “It ain’t, eh? Well, you’ll tell or you’ll git, and mighty quick, too!” The foreman was angry.   “Then I’ll go,” replied Fred; “if the fellow that threw that rope won’t own up and take his medicine, I’ll take it for him; but I won’t tell.”   And he went. Rolling his few clothes in a bundle, he slipped out of the old shack into the grove near by. All the word he left was this note, which he put in the till of Dan’s trunk:   Dear Dan,   I am discharged because I won’t “beller.” Perhaps I’m doing wrong, but my head is so troubled just now I can’t think very clearly. I wish I might have a word with you. Thank you for all your kindness. Say good-by to the boys. I hope they won’t think I am as bad as some would make me out to be.   Fred.   P. S. Please take care of my bridle and saddle. I’ll send for them later.   {175}   “I’ll bring that stubborn little cuss to time,” said Hanks; “it ain’t the first critter that’s turned up missin’ out of that blooded bunch. Two others are gone.”   “The kid’s done some careless herdin’,” insinuated Dick.   “Well, he’ll pay fer it. I’ll keep the price o’ them heifers out of his wages.” Hanks didn’t think that Fred would leave. He was astounded to find him gone.   If Dan had been at the ranch, the result undoubtedly would have been different. When he did return to learn from Fred’s note and Noisy the full story, he was angry.   “Hanks,” he said, “you’re boss here; and I ought to respect your orders, but I want to tell you that you haven’t given that boy a square deal.”   “That’s my business,” retorted Hanks. “Nobody can kill the stock around this ranch without paying for it.”   “Who knows that he has killed any stock? I don’t believe it. There are other ranches that have lost stock. There’s some nigger in this business, and I’ll fetch him out.”   “That’s right,” put in Dick, “stick up for the cow-kid.”   “You cowardly cuss!” Dan broke out, letting slip his temper; “don’t you bark again, or you’ll{176} rue it. If the truth were known, I’ll bet you are at the bottom of this dirty work. You have treated that boy like hell ever since you came to this ranch. And all because he wouldn’t be a hoodlum like you.”   Dick’s face blazed, but he couldn’t find tongue to retort, so he simply cowered. The other boys sat mute. Suddenly Dan checked himself, and stalked out of the door, walking toward the corral to cool down his temper.   “Dan’s dead right, Cap,” said Jim; “you didn’t give the kid a square deal.”   “Well, let him tell who roped that heifer; that’s all I asked.”   “What! ‘beller’ on some one else? Look here, boss; I’d see you in hell first, and then I wouldn’t. I like the kid’s grit. Let the guilty cuss who done it own up and take his medicine.”   “Yis, be jabers, be it bitter or swate, that’s scripture,” put in Pat; “come on now and take the medicine I’ve got fer ye and fergit yer troubles. These praties are gittin’ cold.”   The boys needed no further urging. They grabbed up their tin dishes and began to eat heartily—all but Dick; he didn’t have much of an appetite. His conscience had been stung a little into life.