CHAPTER XVIII

As the men rode forward, a small herd, some seventy-five or a hundred head, which was grazing quietly in a shallow valley, looked up inquisitively. The horsemen did not quicken their pace, but proceeded calmly toward the cows.

“Mostly yearlings,” Roy called to Nick, who was next to him in line. “Yearling” is the term used by the cowboy to denote an animal two or three years old, and intended for food rather than for breeding.

Now the advancing line came to the cows. A few men let out their “yip-yip-yip-eee!” and the herd, aroused, quitted their grazing ground and trotted forward, in the same direction, of course, as the men were headed. These were the first of the round-up, and formed the base of what was later to become a huge parade of animals.

These ranges were all fenced in, and hence the round-up was not so difficult as it would have been if the cattle had to be driven in from open prairie. Yet the fenced territory was so large that for many purposes it was still unprotected range. Perhaps there was fifty or seventy-five miles of fence surrounding the Manley lands. Necessarily there were many breaks in this long stretch, through which animals from other ranges might stray, as well as antelopes and deer. These mixed with the stock and had to be weeded out, and a round-up was the weeding machine.

The riders walked their horses onward, keeping a constant pace, and the cattle finally adjusted themselves to this speed and went forward resignedly. On the far end of the line, where Teddy rode, another herd was picked up. These, seeing their brethren in the distance, went to meet them, and the two herds were merged into one, near the center of the line.

Now Mr. Manley left his place, motioning to those on each side of him to close up and fill the gap. He circled around until he came out in front of the walking cattle. From now on the riders were to take their pace from him.

Everything was done quietly and in orderly fashion. The men were silent for the most part, keeping their ponies to a steady walk and watching for a break in the bunch of cows. It came when they encountered the third herd.

Teddy, on one end, and Roy, on the other, had moved up until they were riding opposite the two sides of the herd. Suddenly Teddy saw a beast leave his companions and cut out diagonally across his line of march. He waited, rather hoping the steer would depart quietly, and willing to let him go rather than create a panic by forcing him back. But another beef followed, and another, until twenty-five or thirty were running wild.

The time had come for action. Unless they were brought quickly back, the whole herd might break, and the round-up would have to be started anew. Teddy yelled to Gus.

“Circle ’em in! Come up—come up!”

He dashed forward, Gus behind him. They swept about on the outside of the running cattle.

“Get in there, you crazy loons!” Teddy shouted. “Back you go! Take ’em back, Flash!”

At the sight of two forms flanking them in whirlwinds of dust, the cattle hesitated, stopped, and gave ponderous thought to the situation. Why were they breaking out of line? It was much easier to rejoin their plodding mates. And then, all thought of flight disappearing, they turned, pawed the earth for a moment, and trotted back into the herd. Teddy breathed a sigh of relief.

“Had plenty luck then, Gus!”

“I’ll say! Thought we had a job on our hands. Those fool cattle were achin’ to start somethin’. We cured ’em, though. Whew! Some hot!”

Wiping his face with his sleeve, he pulled his neckerchief up until it covered his mouth and nose, thus to protect him from the heavy dust. Teddy also had his face thus covered, as did the other riders. This is the true reason for the cowboy’s red bandanna, worn, except on occasions like this, loosely about his neck.

Once more the line moved forward. Mr. Manley, from his position in front, had seen the work of Teddy and Gus, and nodded approvingly to himself.

“Good boy,” he muttered. “Did that like an expert. Saved a lot of trouble then.”

The herd had increased with astonishing rapidity. As they went along all grazing cattle would be gathered in the net. Three days before Mr. Manley had received word that one herd, numbering some six or seven hundred head, had wandered so far afield as to be out of reach of the line of riders. This was a piece of unexpected good fortune, for it meant that these could be left there until ready to be driven to Red Rock and delivered to Peterson. All of them, or nearly all, were steers in the technical meaning of the term, indicating that they were ready to be sold for meat. Nick had reported that they were fat and healthy; indeed, the pick of the lot.

Mr. Manley, as he rode along, felt a glow of satisfaction.

“These behind me will be in the corral by night,” he said to himself. “Then to-morrow Teddy and Roy can take the six hundred over in the southwest part to Red Rock, and we’ll be all set. Reckon I did a lot of worrying for nothing. Those Lefton boys probably gave up the ship. An’ Mob Jamisson ought to be out of the country by now.” As he rode he whistled a tune newly come to the X Bar X via a phonograph record: “This is my lucky day.”

“It is, too,” he muttered. “Reckon I’m pretty fortunate in having two sons like Teddy an’ Roy. Pretty good ole world, after all!”

Nearer and nearer the corral came the driven cattle. The sun was directly overhead, beaming cruelly, causing the sweat to pour down the faces of the riders. Beneath their protecting neckerchiefs Teddy and Roy felt the perspiration streaking in rivulets down their cheeks. They were hot, dusty, and tired. But their job was still before them, and they went on without a murmur.

Occasionally an animal would break, causing confusion and necessitating quick work. But as the corral came into view, they had held most of the herd intact.

Mr. Manley glanced behind him. The cattle were lowing nervously, impatient at the slow, steady pace they had been forced to adopt for so long a time. Another hour of this and open mutiny would take place within their ranks.

Mr. Manley motioned to Pop Burns, who was nearest, to come closer. The veteran ranger left his place in line and rode slowly around the herd and approached his boss. Wisely he waited until he was within speaking distance before asking any questions. At a moment like this any unusual sound might cause a stampede.

“Want me, boss?” he inquired quietly.

“Yep. Ride back and tell Teddy he’s to take this bunch in.”

“Take ’em in, hey!” The puncher whistled. “That’s a right dangerous job. But I reckon he can do it. All right, boss.”

He rode off. Fifteen minutes later Teddy reached his father, it having taken that long to make the circuit of the herd.

“All set, Teddy?”

“Sure thing, Dad.” The boy shifted in his saddle, but smiled gamely. “Guess Flash will stand the strain. I never brought ’em in before, but there’s nothing like starting. Want me to take the lead now?”

“Uh-huh. I’ll ride the flank you had. Now listen. Keep ’em down for half an hour more, if you can. Then go into a trot. Soon as you get ’em moving well—let ’em ride. Get me?”

“I get you, Dad. Half an hour ought to bring us pretty near. Well, so long. See you later.”

“So long, Teddy.”

Mr. Manley turned and rode away. Never once did he glance back. But as he took Teddy’s place in line his heart was thumping madly.