“Yes, sir. Can you take the buggy around this way? Some horses are being hazed up the trail, they’ll be here any minute, and they may get scared of the machine,” he explained and his youthful eyes were eagerly taking in the lines of the new arrival.
“All right, old man, where had I better park?”
“Close to those trees, off the road.” The pilot lost no time in following directions and it was well that he did for he had barely left the vicinity when a bunch of young broncs came crashing through the woods, sending the snow flying in a thick screen all around them.
“Ki-yi. Ki-yi.” The air was filled with the musical cry, and the pilot, as soon as he again stopped his plane, climbed on top of it to watch the performance. He saw the broncs rear, kick, plunge and circle as they were being driven steadily forward, and the man could hear the creak of saddles, the jingle of bridles and crack of quirts as the cowboys dashed hither and yon to keep their charges from rushing off toward the enormous cliff which rose in a hundred-foot wall a quarter of a mile ahead. One young bay succeeded in breaking away. The pilot saw it thundering toward him; its eyes flaming, nostrils wide, and foam flecked about its mouth. The man was too startled and fascinated to realize his danger, then he heard another call.
“Ki—ki—ki.” A cowboy, looking for all the world as if he belonged in a wonderful tale of old-time west came racing after the truant, his pinto apparently requiring no guiding, and his hands busy with a long rope which was singing over his head. An instant later the cow-pony cut in front of the plane, the rope flashed out, its loop opened and dropped over the bay’s thrashing hoofs. As if the whole affair were one complete piece of perfect co-operation, the pinto braced its fore feet, the cowboy pulled back, and the runaway bay was secured.
“Bravo, bravo—what a circus!” The pilot yelled as lustily as a small boy in peanut row at a wild-west show, and then the cowboy glanced over his shoulder.
“Oh, hello,” he shouted. His eyes lighted happily at sight of the plane, but he couldn’t say anything more for the bronc was making a frantic effort to get free of the lariat and required his undivided attention. In a minute he was being hazed along with the bunch and finally all of them were milling around the huge corral, while the riders went about their various tasks. That accomplished, the pilot saw the pinto and its rider say something to another rider on another pinto, then the pair turned their horses’ heads toward the plane.
“By George,” the pilot exclaimed enthusiastically. “I didn’t suppose a man could see anything like that these days. It’s simply great!”
“Oh, that’s nothing,” Bob answered. “The snow made the range a hard feeding ground, so we are bringing the stock in.”
“Keep them here all the rest of the winter?”