LET IT ALONE.
BY MARY E. BAMFORD.
"Hold him tight, Sid!"
"I'm a-holding, Dave!"
The two-year colt, Rix, lay on the ground. Sid was holding tightly to the lasso, while Dave was trying to put the points of a pair of small nippers into Rix's right eye. Rix had objected very much, but Dave was determined; he knew something was wrong with that eye.
"There!" said Dave at last, holding up the nippers. "See? Fox-tail, just's I thought. Got it in his eye."
Dave jumped up, holding the piece of fox-tail grass yet in the nippers. Sid relaxed the lasso, and Rix rose slowly to his feet. The colt shut his eyes, and shook his head, as if wondering whether the agonizing fox-tail was really out at last.
"Poor fellow!" said Sid.
"I knowed that was it," asserted Dave. "I see something was the matter with his eye when he come in this noon."
Rix, released, trotted away.
"Guess he'll stay out of fox-tail after this," said Sid.
"I dunno," said Dave. "Critters walk right into trouble with their eyes wide open. I'm going to make bread now."
Sid followed into the shanty, and watched Dave stir together sour milk and soda for bread. The ranch was away in the hills, much too far from any town for visits from the baker's wagon. The treeless hills were the ranging-place of cattle and horses. Far away in the valley Sid could see the river-bed. It was dry now, but Dave said that if one dug down anywhere in the sand, one could find a current of water a few feet below the surface. Dave always knew things. Sid liked to hear him talk. All this country was new to Sid.
"Does your bread always rise?" he asked.
"If it don't I give it to the chickens," said Dave, putting in some more soda. "Tried yeast-cakes, but I couldn't make them work."
"Is fox-tail grass much bother to folks?" questioned Sid, seeing Rix from the door.
"Awful!" said Dave. "Gets in the hogs' eyes, and the sheep's too. Sheep-men try to burn the fox-tail off the pasture land, and the fire runs into the farmers' grain, lots of times. That's what makes farmers hate sheep-men so. Folks down 'n the valley round up the hogs every June to pick fox-tail out of their eyes. If they didn't, half the hogs'd go blind."
"Round up?" questioned Sid.
"Drive 'em together," explained Dave. "You'll see a round-up of my cattle 'fore long. Got to go out and hunt the hills for 'em, and drive 'em away down to the railroad. The other men are going to do it on their ranches too. Takes about a day for us little cattle-men to round up, and then about two days more to drive them down to the railroad. Big cattle-men it takes longer."
"You like it?" asked Sid.
Dave laughed.
"Well 'nough," he said. "We stop, you know, and have a good time on the road every little while."
"What do you do?" questioned Sid.
"Oh! drink—some," answered Dave.
"You don't though—do you?" asked Sid.
"Oh! well—some," said Dave slowly, as he poked the fire. "Have to drink with other men, you know. They wouldn't think I was friendly if I didn't."
Sid looked troubled. Dave never used to drink when he worked for Sid's father two or three years before, on the fruit ranch up country.
Dave's bread was done. There were yellow streaks in it, but Sid ate it.
"The principal thing's to get something to eat when your [Transcriber's note: you're?] ranching," apologized Dave.
About a week after this the round-up began.
"You take Rix," said Dave. "I'll take another horse, and we'll hunt the cattle up."
In and out of the gullies they rode, here and there through the hills. Late in the afternoon all the cattle that were to be shipped were together. The moon rose full and bright, making the hills almost as light as day. Sid and Dave stood by the shanty, looking back at the corral, where the cattle were.
"We'll start early to-morrow morning, Sid," said Dave. "Guess we'll meet some of the other ranchers on the road, most likely. You tired? Musn't let one day's riding use you up. We'll be two days going down, and one coming back. We can ride nights some, maybe. It'll be pleasant."
Next night they were part way down the hills, far enough so that they were leaving the bare portions behind, and entering the live-oak districts. Sid stood in the moonlight by an oak, and watched some of the men. They sat around a little fire, and played cards and drank. Out in the moonlight were other men, taking charge of the droves of cattle. Sid could see horns and heads, and once in a while a man would come to the fire and drink and joke with the others. Dave came after a time. He saw Sid with Rix by the tree. Sid had tied the horse there.
"Come over to the fire, and get warm," said Dave.
Sid went. One of the men held out a bottle to Dave. He took it, and drank.
"Give some to the youngster," said the man good-naturedly. "He's tired driving cattle, I reckon."
Dave looked at Sid, but Sid shook his head.
"Too fine to drink with us cowboys?" asked the man by the fire.
"Let him alone," said Dave. "He ain't going to drink if he don't want to."
Sid went back to his tree. He put an old gray quilt around him, and lay down. Then he remembered. He rose again, and knelt in the dark by the tree trunk. He asked God to keep the cattle from injuring anybody, and to keep the men and Dave from becoming very drunk. Sid was afraid.
He lay down again. Once in a while he looked over toward the fire. Dave came to it sometimes, and always one or the other of the men offered him a bottle. Sometimes Dave acted as though he were going to refuse; but the other men always joked, and then Dave drank.
"Why doesn't he stay away from the fire if he doesn't want to drink?" thought Sid. "Maybe he's cold. I wonder if mother—"
He went to sleep.
Next day they drove the cattle again a long, long way. At last they came to a town. There was the railroad, and there were the stock cars. When the cattle were on board, Dave and Sid jumped on their horses.
"Want to stay in town over night?" asked Dave. "Like a little change from the hills?"
"Let's go and get something to eat," said one of the other men, who rode up. "I want somethin' different from ranch cookin'. Ain't a first-class cook myself."
Sid was glad to eat bread that did not have yellow streaks in it. He was glad to have some meat, too. But, after eating, the other man said to Dave:
"Come take a drink."
They were on the sidewalk, untying their horses. Sid pulled Dave by the sleeve.
"Don't," whispered Sid.
Dave stopped and smiled.
"Come on!" said the other man.
"I don't get down to town only once in a while," said Dave. "Never drink other times, Sid."
He went with the man. Sid waited; it seemed to him that he had to wait a long time.
"Round-ups are bad things for Dave," thought he. "Mother'd be sorry."
There was a great noise from the saloon on the corner. Pretty soon Dave came out. He looked very white as he came to the place where the boy waited. Dave leaned against Rix, and groaned.
"What's the matter?" asked Sid in alarm.
"It's my arm," said Dave, growing whiter. "There was a fight—in that place—somehow. They knocked against me. I fell. One man fell on top of me and my arm was sort of doubled up under me. It hurts—awful. I don't know whether it's sprained—or broken—or—"
They had to stay in town a week before they could go back to the ranch.
When they went back Dave had his arm in a sling.
"It's a good thing the twenty-three tons of hay are in," said Sid.
"You couldn't do much with that arm."
Dave did not say anything.
Next Sunday night Sid sat in the door of the shanty on the ranch. He was singing to himself a little. "Safely through another week," he hummed. His mother always sang that Sundays at home. Sid was a bit homesick Sundays in the hills.
Dave came and sat down by Sid, and looked out at the sunset and the dry river away down in the valley. Rix came trotting up near the shanty.
"He's a smart colt—ain't he?" said Sid. "He hasn't been bothered with
fox-tail since that day you'n and I took that piece out of his eye.
He's kept his eyes away from the stuff, whether he's meant to or not.
Do you suppose he has as much sense as that?"
"Critters ain't the only things that walk into trouble with their eyes open," said Dave. "I ain't goin' to let Rix be smarter than I be. I'm goin' to keep out of trouble, too, Sid. I ain't goin' to drink no more, ever."
"Not round-up times?" asked Sid.
"Not round-up times, nor other times, if God will help me," said Dave, soberly.
"He will," said Sid. "Oh, I'm so glad!"