Cowboy Dave | Page 2

the bunk
house, and went on toward the main building, where, by virtue of his
position as head of the cowboys, he had his own cot.
Meanwhile the crowd of yelling, hard-riding sand dust-stirring
punchers, came on faster than ever.
"Hi! Yi! Yip!"
"Here we come!"
"Keep th' pot a-bilin'! We've got our appetites With us!"

"That's what!"
Some one fired his big revolver in the air, and in another moment there
was an echo of many shots, the sharp crack of the forty-fives mingling
with the thunder of hoofs, the yells, and the clatter of stirrup leathers.
"The boys coming back, Pete?" asked an elderly man, who came to the
door of the main living room of the principal ranch house.
"Yes, Mr. Carson, they're comin' back, an' it don't need a movin' picture
operator an' telegraphic despatch t' tell it, either."
"No, Pete. They seem to be in good spirits, too."
"Yes, they generally are when they get back from round-up. I want to
hear how they made out, though, an' what th' prospects are."
"So do I, Pete," and there was an anxious note in the voice of Mr.
Randolph Carson, owner of the Bar U ranch. Matters had not been
going well with him, of late.
With final yells, and an increase in the quantity of dust tossed up as the
cowboys pulled their horses back on their haunches, the range-riding
outfit of the ranch came to rest, not far away from the stable. The
horses, with heaving sides and distended nostrils that showed a deep
red, hung their heads from weariness. They had been ridden hard, but
not unmercifully, and they would soon recover. The cowboys
themselves tipped back their big hats from their foreheads, which
showed curiously white in contrast to their bronzed faces, and beat the
dust from their trousers. A few of them wore sheepskin chaps.
One after another the punchers slung their legs across the saddle horns,
tossed the reins over the heads of their steeds, as an intimation that the
horses were not to stray, and then slid to the ground, walking with that
peculiarly awkward gait that always marks one who has spent much of
his life in the saddle.
"Grub ready, Hop Loy?" demanded one lanky specimen, as he used his

blue neck kerchief to remove some of the dust and sweat from his
brown face.
"It better be!" added another, significantly; while still another said,
quietly:
"My gal has been askin' me for a long, long time to get her a
Chinaman's pig-tail, an' I'm shore goin' t'get one now if I don't have my
grub right plenty, an' soon!"
"Now you're talkin'!" cried a fourth, with emphasis.
There was no need of saying anything further. The Celestial had stuck
his head out of the cook house to hear these ominous words of warning,
and now, with a howl of anguish, he drew it inside again, wrapping his
queue around his neck. Then followed a frantic rattling of pots and
pans.
"You shore did get him goin', Tubby!" exclaimed a tall, lanky cowboy,
to a short and squatty member of the tribe.
"Well, I aimed to Skinny," was the calm reply. "I am some hungry."
The last of the cowboys to alight was a manly youth, who might have
been in the neighborhood of eighteen or nineteen years of age. He was
tall and slight, with a frank and pleasing countenance, and his blue eyes
looked at you fearlessly from under dark brows, setting off in contrast
his sunburned face. Had any one observed him as he rode up with the
other cowboys, it would have been noticed that, though he was the
youngest, he was one of the best riders.
He advanced from among the others, pausing to pet his horse which
stuck out a wet muzzle for what was evidently an expected caress. Then
the young man walked forward, with more of an air of grace than
characterized his companions. Evidently, though used to a horse, he
was not so saddle-bound as were his mates.
As he walked up to the ranch house he was met by Mr. Carson and

Pocus Pete, both of whom looked at him rather eagerly and anxiously.
"Well, son," began the ranch owner, "how did you make out?"
"Pretty fair, Dad," was the answer. "There were more cattle than you
led us to expect, and there were more strays than we calculated on. In
fact we didn't get near all of them."
"Is that so, Dave?" asked Pocus Pete, quickly. "Whereabouts do you
reckon them strays is hidin'?"
"The indications are they're up Forked Branch way. That's where we
got some, and we saw more away up the valley, but we didn't have time
to go for them, as we had a little