Cock Murray had an engagement to meet Schatz at the point where the Double Y's north line touched the Black Jack, and after he had ridden up to the south line to see how the cows were doing, as Buck had ordered, he swung west to the Black Jack to follow it down to the meeting place. As he rode he neared the Hog Back, a vast upheaval of rock, not high enough to be called a mountain, flat on the top except for hollows and gullies, scantily covered with grass and stunted trees. The Hog Back would have been called a mesa in the South, for want of a better name, though it was no more a mesa than it was a mountain. A mile long and a third of that across at its widest point, it made an effective natural barrier between the Double Y and the river, hiding a pasture of great acreage which lay between it and the precipitous cliff which frowned down upon the rushing, swishing Black Jack eighty feet below. While the round-up would, of course, comb this poor-grass part of the range for outlaws and strays, the outfit never gave it any attention because cattle seldom were found upon it.
Cock Murray, knowing that he had an hour to spare, and fond of hard riding where his skill was called into play, suddenly decided to ascend the Hog Back. Antelope were still to be found even on the range itself, along the wildest part of the south line, and he might get a shot at one if he made the climb. It was an easy task to go up the northern end, where the trail arose in a succession of steep grades; but he had no time for that and guided his pony up the rough, rocky east wall. As he gained the top he rested the horse while he looked around. It was a favorite view of his; below him lay the range and the river; he could see, on a clear day, the dot that represented his ranch house; and to the west and south lay the wild, rolling range of the Cyclone. Gradually his gaze sought nearer objects and he thought of antelope. Moving forward cautiously he kept keen watch on all sides, intending if he caught sight of one, to dismount and stalk it on foot. He had ridden nearly to the northern end when he jerked his pony to a stand, and then, gazing earnestly ahead a short distance, went on as rapidly as the broken ground would permit.
"Dead cows! What 'n h—l killed 'em? Wolves would clean 'em to the bone. G'wan, you fool!" he growled at his mount. "Scared of dead cows, are you! If you are, I 've got the cure for it right here on my heel."
The horse went on, picking its footing, and soon Murray whistled in surprise: "Cyclone brand! Bet they 've got the itch, too. Yep! Died from it, by G—d! Now, how the blazes did they get over here! Cows, and sick ones especially, don't hanker to swim the Jack. Well, that will hold over a little—let 's see how many are up here"—and he began the search. Four were all he could find, two alive and two dead. The two that still stumbled weakly in search of food, dropped as if struck by lightning as the acrid gray smoke sifted past Murray's head. "Wonder how many more there was and where they went to? Must have been here some time, judging by the carcasses. Holy smoke! If any cows gone as bad as these are loose on our range may the Lord pity us! Come on, bronc; we 'll see what Schatz thinks about it. Wish I had time to build a fire over these itch farms."
He was careful to guide his horse on ground barren of vegetation and not let brush or grass touch the animal when he could avoid it. As he plunged down the steep northern trail, a dried water course, he reined up hard, looking closely at the tracks in the soft alluvial soil washed down by the last rain. "Must have been about a dozen; perhaps a few less—then some did get where we don't want them—holy cats! as if we have n't got enough with our regular calf round-up!"
When he galloped up to the north line he found Schatz waiting for him. "Schatz," he shouted, "I just found four itch cows on the Hog Back. Six or eight are loose on th' ranch. They was Cyclone, an' they never crossed th' Jack by themselves."
"Mein Gott! Did you drive dem back?"
"Two was dead; th' other two was so near it I just dropped 'em. They could n't stand a drive even to th' river. Shall I tell Peters?"
"Shall you tell him? Gewiss! Vat you t'ink—I vant itch on de Double Vy? How dey come?"
"I don't know. But they must 'a' been driven. Th' Jack is cold as ice an' she runs strong by th' Rocking Horse. That's where th' tracks led to. Cows ain't goin' to swim that for fun. Why, these was all et up with th' itch—wonder they did n't drown."