After dinner the cutting and branding went on as before, but with this important difference—Bowles flanked only his share of the calves. There were two sets of flankers, two hot-iron men, and two ear-markers, and the calves came up as they were caught. A really ambitious flanker, out for experience, could get almost all the calves; but the only ones that Bowles ran after now were the ones that were easy to throw. If a yearling came dancing up on a rope, he stepped on his own foot and let the other man beat him to it—either that or turned him over to Buck. It was quick work; but Bowles had a college education—he had been only six hours a cowboy when he learned to malinger on the job.
As for the rest of the gang, inured as they were to hard labor, the branding was no more than a picnic for them. They found time to take chews of tobacco, tell stories, and watch all the roping; and if any calf turned out to be too big for flanking they grabbed him by the neck and made him run, and bulldogged him, "California fashion." Happy Jack was best at that, and several times in a fit of emulation he shoved some puncher aside and showed him how it ought to be done—but never for Bowles. It was strange how carefully they all avoided him—never looking at him, rarely addressing him, and answering his inquiries with a word. He was an alien, a stranger among them, and—slowly the truth was borne in on him—an inferior.
From the start Bowles had taken it for granted that they were abashed, tongue-tied by his obvious education, and awed by his gentlemanly bearing. But now they would not so much as laugh at him, lest it encourage him to familiarity. Never for a minute did they allow him to presume on their sufferance, and his remarks fell dead and flat. Even Henry Lee, who had the bearing and spoke the language of a gentleman, refused to encourage him by a word; and at last he retired within himself, and saved his breath for flanking and his wits for dodging work.
If a cowboy never soldiered on the job he would be dead before it came pay-day; but there are certain tasks which cannot be slighted, and one of these is bringing home the herd. After the day's branding the calves are cut into "ones" and "twos," and while the rest of the outfit troops gaily homeward somebody must stay behind and bring up the cut. One of them must be a cowman, for trailing is an art in itself, but the others are likely to be dubs. Certainly no boss would penalize his best hands and most willing workers by giving them such a task; and so, when the cutting was over and Henry Lee looked around for a poor hand, or one who had been soldiering on the job, he picked Bowles on both counts.
"Bowles," he said, "you help Brigham bring up those twos!" And that was all there was to it. But to Brigham he spoke differently. It was "Brig," with him; and instead of an order it was a request.
"Brig," he said, "I'll ask you to take charge of the twos. Drive 'em easy and put 'em in the north pasture."
"All right, sir," answered Brigham in a friendly, off-hand way, and then the drive began. Mounted upon a rough-coated bronk that fought his bit constantly yet responded to every touch of rein or spur, the burly puncher rode back and forth, from the rear to the flank, and then up near the point; and when he had them strung out to suit him he traveled along on one side, while Bowles brought up the rear. It was weary work, after the long day of flanking, and as the weaker ones began to get footsore they fell back to the drag and more than doubled his labors. At times Brigham Clark dropped back and strung them out for him again; but he said nothing, chewing placidly on his tobacco and giving all his thought to the cattle. Still the drag increased, and as they began to lag behind, Bowles let down his rope and lashed them with the loop. It was then that Brigham Clark spoke.
"Don't do no good to whip 'em," he remarked, falling back to string them out. "They'll travel as fast as the leaders—jest let 'em go."
So Bowles put up his rope and let them go, and soon they fell farther behind; but about the time he was preparing to whip them anyway, the cowman dropped back from the flank.
"Now, that's the way to handle cattle," he said, nodding at the plodding line. "String 'em out and crowd the leaders—the drag will take care of itself."