CHAPTER XVIII
A MIDNIGHT BLAZE
Once the thirsty cattle had satisfied their longing for water, it was a comparatively easy matter to drive them from the temporary range where they had been sent to fatten. The river was running at its usual rate, but of course it could not be said how long this would continue.
"Len and his father will get busy and build that dam again," remarked Dave, as he and Mr. Bellmore, with Pocus Pete and the cowboys, herded the cattle together to drive them away.
"Yes, I suppose so, until we can take legal action against him," assented the water agent, who was rapidly learning the rudiments of cow-punching.
"And legal action is going to take a long time," said Mr. Carson. "I haven't done any more of it than I've had to in my life, but it is mighty slow action."
"But it is sure in the end," said Mr. Bellmore. "And I am positive that right is on your side."
"Well, we won't take any more chances with the cattle getting water here—at least for a while," said the ranch owner. "We'll make the main round-up while we're at it, and then we'll see what we can do. I'll sell off a big supply of steers, and that will mean less water will be required. Then I'll be in a better position to make a fight against Molick and his crowd."
"That's a good idea—reducing your cattle until the water matter is settled," the Chicago man said.
Talking and laughing among themselves, at the manner in which they had destroyed the dam, and let in the water to its former course, the cowboys rode along, driving the cattle. Not all who had been summoned for this work were needed to drive the steers, since they went willingly enough.
"So some of you had better ride on ahead to the ranch house, and get ready for the round-up tomorrow," said Mr. Carson. "There'll be busy times, then. And, too," he added in a low voice, "I rather want them around the place just at present."
"Why?" asked Dave.
"Oh, you never can tell what Molick will do," was the answer.
"You mean he might try to be revenged on you for opening the dam?" asked
Mr. Bellmore.
"Something like that—yes. It wouldn't be the first time if a barn or bunk house or a pile of fodder should go up in smoke. Such things have occurred here."
"And was it never found out who did it?"
"Well, we had our suspicions. Almost always the one who suffered was on the outs with the Molick crowd."
"I think I'll ride back myself," Dave said. "I've got a few possessions I wouldn't like to have damaged."
"I'll go with you," offered Mr. Bellmore. "There are some valuable papers on this irrigation scheme that I wouldn't like to lose, or see fall into the hands of strangers."
"Oh, I don't really believe there is any danger," went on Mr. Carson. "I was just taking the utmost precaution. But ride on if you want to, Dave. We can handle the cattle all right now, and I want to talk to Pocus Pete about the round-up."
So Dave and his friend rode on ahead, following some of the cowboys who had been summoned to tear away the dam. Now that the excitement was over Dave felt a little reaction, which generally follows high tension. As Dave looked at the young man riding beside him he could not help contrasting their two positions.
"I guess he knows all right who he is," mused Dave. "No worrying about his father and mother or about his future. As for me, I don't know whether I'm a rag-picker's son, or whether I came from a millionaire's family."
Yet, as he thought it over more soberly, Dave could not help thinking that he must have had as parents persons in that broad, and altogether desirable, middle class.
"If they were millionaires they would hardly have been living in a small Missouri town," reasoned the young cowboy, "and if I came from rag-picker ancestors I'd have had on such ragged clothes that Mr. Carson would have noticed that and spoken of it. And that reminds me. I must ask him about the clothing I wore, and about how old I was. Maybe he kept the garments, and they might form a clew. Yes, that's what I'll do. I'll ask Mr. Carson about it."
To himself Dave always thought of the ranchman as "Mr. Carson," though when he spoke he called him "Dad," for he did not want strangers to surmise concerning the secret, nor did he wish to hurt the man who had been a father to him.
"Anything wrong?" Inquired Mr. Bellmore, as they cantered along.
"Wrong? No. Why?" asked Dave, looking up suddenly.
"Why you're as glum as an owl, and as silent as one of these prairie dogs," went on the engineer. "You haven't said a word for over a mile. Is something troubling you?"
"Yes—that is, no!" exclaimed Dave. "I was—just thinking."
"Oh, I could see that," returned the other with a laugh. "Well, if it's anything about this water business, don't worry. Molick and his crowd may bother your father for a time, but Bar U ranch will win out—I'm sure of it!"
"I hope so," murmured Dave. "They're a mean crowd, though," and he thought of the cowardly taunt of Len Molick—the taunt which had first given him the clew to his lack of identity.
"Well, I'll do all I can for you and your father," went on the engineer. "I owe a great deal to you both. In fact I am convinced that I owe my life to you."
"Oh, pshaw!" deprecated Dave.
"Yes, that's a fact," went on Mr. Bellmore. "I might have lain caught there in that gully until I died, for it is a lonely place."
"Yes, that's true enough," agreed Dave.
"And so, in a small way, I'm going to do all I can to repay you," said the Chicago man. "I know something about water rights, irrigation and title deeds to streams, even if I'm not much on the cowpunching," he added with a smile, "and such knowledge as I have is at your service."
"Well, I'm sure we'll appreciate it—dad and I," said Dave. "Now let's try a little run. Crow is just spoiling for a good gallop, and the way from here home is as fine a track as you'd want."
Calling to his horse, Dave set him at a gallop, being followed by Mr. Bellmore on Kurd, and the two indulged in an impromptu race, reaching the ranch house at the same time.
"Hi there, Hop Loy!" called Dave. "Grub ready?"
"Alle same leady velly soon," said the amiable Chinese, with a cheerful grin, "How you like plan-cakes?"
"Plan-cakes strike me as about right; don't they you, Mr. Bellmore?"
"I should say they would be eminently fitting and proper," returned the engineer with a laugh.
Presently there were busy scenes being enacted at Bar U ranch as the cowboys came in from their various stations, including those men who were with Mr. Carson, driving in the cattle that had been in such danger.
"Grub" in other words, supper, was served, a prodigious number of "plan-cakes" being consumed. But far from being annoyed, Hop Loy was pleased the more the boys ate. His shrill voice, singing a Chinese song, rose higher and higher as he toiled in his kitchen, baking stack after stack of the brown cakes.
"Velly much glood eat!" he exclaimed with a grin.
"Hop, you're all right!" cried Pocus Pete.
"Your pig-tail is safe with us!" declared Tubby Larkin, as he passed his plate for more cakes.
Preparations for the round-up were made that night, and the real work began next morning. A round-up on a cattle ranch, as I suppose you all know, means just what the word implies. A rounding up, or bringing together, of all the beasts, that a count may be made and some disposed of.
When the cattle roamed freely about the plains there was an intermingling of herds, and the only way one man could tell his "critters" from those of his neighbor, was by the brand marks on their flanks, or cuts in the ears. Of course in later years when there were more fences, the work became easier.
In the round-up the calves born since the last accounting are branded, and cattle matters generally are straightened out, and settled for the ensuing year.
And this was the work that Dave and his cowboy friends did. The main object of having it done now at the Bar U ranch was to provide for the water contingency. Mr. Carson realized that Molick would probably soon again shut off a portion of his supply.
"And if I can't get enough water for all my cattle I'll have to keep a smaller number until the tangle is straightened out," said the ranchman, "I'll sell off while I have the chance, and buy later in the fall."
These were busy times. From distant ranges the cattle were driven in. Those needing branding were "cut out," or separated from the rest of the herd. With skillful throws of their ropes Dave and the others would lasso the creatures, throwing them and holding them to the ground, while another cowpuncher, with an iron made hot in a hastily built fire, imprinted on the flank of the unbranded cow or steer the device of a letter U with a straight bar across it. This marked the animal as Mr. Carson's.
Riders dashed here and there, shouting, yelling, now and then laughing, and occasionally firing off big revolvers to turn some refractory steer.
The dust-cloud was thick over everything. It coated the faces of the cowboys until they appeared to be wearing masks. Now and then one of them would have a fall, but seldom with any serious results.
It was work, toil, sweat, ride hard, gallop here and there, yell, shout, leap, stumble, fall and get up again. And gradually something like order came out of the chaos.
Over at the chuck wagon Hop Loy stood ready to serve a hasty lunch whenever it was called for. Water, thickened with oatmeal, or made spicy with vinegar and ginger, "switchel," as it is called, served to quench the thirst.
"Well, I guess we have 'em pretty well where we want 'em," said Dave, at the close of the day. "Pretty good round-up; eh, Dad?"
"Yes, but it isn't over yet," was the answer. Mr. Carson cast a look at the sky. All his cattle were now gathered in one immense herd, branded, and ready for division during the following few days. A large number would be shipped away, and others would be scattered over the ranch on ranges where the water supply could not be tampered with by Jason Molick.
"Thinking of a storm?" asked Mr. Bellmore, for a midnight storm will sometimes stampede a bunch of cattle more quickly than anything else.
"Well, I don't like the look of the sky," the ranchman said. "But it may blow over."
Night on the prairies. Night, with a great herd of cattle to be looked after. The cowboys rode slowly around the immense herd, singing their own peculiar songs. Some claimed that the cattle were quieter if they heard singing.
"Though th' way some of those fellers howl is enough t' give any self-respectin' cow critter th' nightmare," declared Pocus Pete.
"Go on! You're just jealous 'cause you can't warble!" said Skinny.
Gradually those who were not on night duty rolled themselves up in their blankets and forgot the cares of the day in heavy slumber. Dave lay near Mr. Carson and Mr. Bellmore. But for some reason or other the young cowboy could not sleep. He stared up at the stars which had been dim, but were now quite bright.
"I don't believe we're going to get a storm," mused Dave.
He arose to get a drink of water, thinking perhaps this change might bring slumber. As he stood for a moment, after quenching his thirst, he gazed over the great dark mass of slightly moving cattle. He heard the distant songs of the cowboys. And then, suddenly, Dave saw something else. It was a glow off to the west-a red, dull glow that nearly caused his heart to stop beating.
"That's a fire!" he murmured. For a moment he thought of the ranch buildings, but an instant later he knew it was in the opposite direction.
The glow increased. It lighted the sky. Dave sprang toward the place where the ranchman slept.
"Fire! Fire!" he cried. "The prairie is on fire!"