Cowboy Dave | Page 3

it might storm, and Tubby said we'd better move the bunch while we could, and look after the rustlers and strays later."
"Yes, I guess that was best," the ranch owner agreed. "But where were these rustlers from, Dave?"
"Hard to say, Dad. Looked to be Mexicans."
"I reckon that'd be about right," came from Pocus Pete. "We'll have to be on th' watch, Mr. Carson."
"I expect so, Pete. Things aren't going so well that I can afford to lose any cattle. But about these strays, Dave. Do you think we'd better get right after them?"
"I should say so, Dad."
"Think there are many of them?"
"Not more than two of us could drive in. I'll go to-morrow with one of the men. I know just about where to look for them."
"All right, Dave. If you're not too much done out I'd like to have you take a hand."
"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?"

CHAPTER II
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,"