“I haven’t any. I was with my uncle.”
“Where’s he?”
Davy shook his head and gulped again. Billy helped him out.
“The Injuns struck their wagon on the trail and wiped them out, Mr. Majors. The Cut Nose band had Dave, and he came into our train after that mule fort fight. He made good with us; Lew Simpson and Wild Bill and George Woods and everybody will say that; and he’ll make good anywhere you put him, I believe.”
“Well,” said Mr. Majors, “if he has no folks that’s a different matter. I don’t want to encourage any boy to leave his home when he ought to be going to school, and getting the right bringing up generally. It’s a rough life for a boy or man either out on the plains. Do you swear?” he demanded, suddenly.
Dave stammered.
“I don’t mean to. I don’t think I do.”
“That’s right,” asserted Mr. Majors. “I won’t have anybody around or working for our company who blasphemes or lies. I won’t have it at all. There’s no sense in swearing. All right then. I can put you at herding, if you really want to work. We’ll pay you twenty-five dollars a month, the same as we pay all herders. Got a horse?”
“No, sir,” said Davy.
“That doesn’t matter. We’ll furnish you a mount, of course. You can have the one that other herder’s using. I hope you’ll make a better herder than most of the others. Herding is a business just like any other business, my boy. Whatever you do, do well. If you make a good herder, we’ll give you a chance at something more. Nearly everybody has to start in at herding. Billy here did. Now he’s drawing full pay with the wagon trains. He’ll tell you what to do. You can sign the pay roll and start in this afternoon. Mr. Meyers,” and Mr. Majors addressed his book-keeper, “have this boy sign the pay roll and the pledge. He’s going on herd, with the cattle out west of town.”