When the shouts of the cowboys told the weary cattle that they were to stop and rest, they gave evidence of their satisfaction. Crowding along the little stream, they drank their fill after the heat of the day. Some began to crop the forage, with others immediately dropped down, utterly exhausted by their labors.
With the report of a gun one of the yearlings dropped, and a cowboy was soon busily engaged in cutting the animal up to serve as their supper.
A fire was started, though fuel seemed scarce. But then, only a cooking blaze was required, and after supper was served they would have no further need for any fire.
Bob admitted frankly that he felt tired out, though he did not fully realize just how weary he was until he had sat down a little while, and then attempted to rise suddenly.
“Why, I just can’t do it, Frank!” he exclaimed with a long face. “Seems as if my legs needed oiling about the hinges, they’re that rusty. Gee! I hope I’ll be feeling better than this in the morning.”
“Oh! don’t worry about that,” laughed his chum, who, of course, being somewhat tougher, had not suffered quite as much as Bob; “after a sleep you’ll be as fresh as a daisy again.”
“But I want to stand my watch to-night, all the same,” ventured Bob, positively.
Frank looked at him.
“What’s come over you, to say that?” he demanded.
“Because, when there’s danger around I think every fellow ought to share the duties of standing guard,” Bob replied, sturdily.