"I'm purty bad, myself, when I'm riled," he told it, and rode on. Shortly afterward a gray streak flashed from a heavy bit of brush, and Sam's Colt leaped into action, but in vain. The coyote punched a hole in the air and disappeared almost as though it had shrunk into nothing. He grinned: "That slug will catch you when you stop, less'n you turns out," he said.
Rock Creek coming into view, the long line of horsemen became a crescent, the ends moving forward at the center slowed, and soon a circle of riders held the herd on all sides. It slowed, grew compact, and stopped, shifting like a kaleidoscope, the different colors weaving in and out like patches of some animated, changing crazy-quilt. There was good grass here, plenty of water, and no more urging riders. Calves went bawling their panicky ways in frantic search for lost mothers, butting and worrying through the herd, receiving rebuffs and impersonal chastisements as they disturbed their elders. One stood outside the press and bawled like a spoiled child, its defiant tail as high as its sinewy neck and more erect. There came an answering call from the herd and a frantic mother shot out, nosed the squaller, and then both grew instantly silent, contented, and at peace with the turbulent world.
"G'wan back!" ordered Lefferts, grinning from ear to ear. "I'm sayin' that it's a great thing to have a ma, you bellerin' cry-baby."
The round-up had taken less time than had been expected and it was decided to go ahead with the cutting out. The riders took turns in going to the horse wrangler's flimsy rope corral, made by lariats strung from the wheels of the chuck wagon to the pommels of saddles on the backs of old, docile, and well-trained horses. Selecting from their best cutting-out animals, saddles were hastily changed, a quick meal eaten, and then the men rode back to the herd to relieve others, who duplicated the performance. The herd was gently made more compact so as to cover less ground and need fewer riders to loaf in their saddles and hold it, the inspectors rode out in front of it and the cutters-out went to work, trying to pick from the outer fringe of cattle. Cows and steers lumbered from the press and went either to the beef cut, or to freedom, according to the signal of the inspector. Quickly the round-up herd shrunk and the beef cut grew. At first there was some trouble to get the chosen cattle to leave the herd—they tried to rejoin it; but as the beef cut grew it drew more and more until it was hardly more than necessary to start the individual cattle for it. When night fell the original herd had disappeared, its more fortunate units ranging free upon the ranch. The beef cut, allowed to graze and not bothered more than necessary, was headed for a rise, where in due time it bedded down and prepared to spend a quiet, peaceful night.
A passer-by would have come upon a picturesque scene on the banks of Rock Creek that night. The cook's fire, blazing high, was surrounded by the men off watch, squatted, seated, or reclining as they swapped stories and told jokes. The chuck wagon was magnified and made grotesque by the firelight and shadows, saddled horses tied to it or picketed a short distance away, and the flimsy rope corral running from wagon wheels to stakes driven in the ground, was ready to hold a change of mounts in case of a sudden need. In the distance was the bedded herd, lying on the top of a rise where it could catch any passing breeze, the cattle chewing their cuds and blowing and grunting contentedly.
A yearling bummed among them, filled with the mischievous deviltry of youth, making life miserable for its elders as it stumbled and butted its erratic way. It left a fight or two in its wake and finally fled, abandoning all dignity when a crusty steer arose to chastise it. But the chip on its shoulder remained there until it tried to butt a calf from its warm bed, whereupon the indignant mother scrambled to all fours and sent the disturber on the run for safety. The calf was there because it bore no brand, which would be taken care of on the morrow. The bummer had no excuse to create any trouble over a warmed bed because the night was warm. Finally, the edge gone from its exuberant deviltry, it began to look for a place to sleep—and after barely escaping several thrashings it worked out of the herd and sought a place by itself, doubtless to ruminate upon the cruelties and indignities endured by yearlings.
The four night riders of the first shift went slowly, lazily around the herd, keeping a score or more yards from it, singing and carrying on chanted conversations as they met and passed each other. Gone was the dust and turmoil of the day and in its place had come rest and quiet. Over all the crescent moon, nightly to grow fuller, worked its alchemy on earth and cattle, shedding its soft silvery light. The distant camp fire grew steadily lower and finally glowed like the end of a great cigar, winking as gentle breezes fanned its embers and passed on. Somewhere out on the silvery range a lonely coyote poured a burbling plaint to the moon and passed on like a shadow in search of food to stop the clamoring ache of an empty stomach, gradually approaching the winking fire, where choice titbits might perhaps be found.
"I want a big chew of tobacco," chanted Gardner, as he drew nearer to Reilly, "An' I want it bad, for mine's all gone."
"It allus is," sang Reilly. "Don't bother that spotted yearlin' over by them bushes. He's finally quit his bummin' an' has bedded down all by hisself outside th' herd. You'll know where he is even if you went blind. He's real friendly an' lonesome, an' likes to converse with everythin' that passes."
"I know th' scamp," sang Gardner, returning the plug. "He's had one gosh-awful time today keepin' out of a lickin'. I'm sayin' he earned a dozen." Soon he made out Lefferts' song, who mourned a long-lost love.