Davy nodded.
“There’s no sense in swearing, anyhow,” mused Billy. “Jiminy, but my mother hated to have me start out bull whacking. It’s a tough life, and some of the teamsters, too, are about as tough as you make ’em. Ma saw Mr. Russell and Mr. Majors and they talked with her and said they’d look out for me: and she read the pledge, and so she let me go. Lew Simpson is a hard looker, you know. She didn’t like him until she found out from Mr. Russell that he wasn’t half as bad as he seemed. I’m mighty glad I’m here to post you on that herding business. It’s no easy job herding a thousand cattle. But you’ll make good. All you have to do is to tend to your job. Mother’ll fix you up with bedding, and if you need any clothes that we haven’t got, you can get them on the company account and they’ll take it out of your pay. See?”
So, Billy chatting and Davy listening, they trotted along on the road up to the fort.
Mr. Russell was still at the quartermaster’s building busy loading a bull train and checking it up. Billy reported to him, and he nodded.
“All right,” he said. “On your way out you tell Buck Bomer to give you a mule from his outfit.”
They found Buck in the wagon camp outside the fort. He turned over to them a little mouse-colored mule, with a rawhide bridle and an old stock saddle. The bridle had rope lines and the saddle was worn and ragged, and the saddle-blanket was a piece of sacking. Altogether the equipment looked rather sorry, but Davy said not a word. He made up his mind that he would be better than his outfit.
“You don’t care,” consoled Billy. “It’s good enough as a starter. If you need better you’ll get it after a while. We’ll stop at the house, and get the other stuff. Then we’ll go on. I know where the herd is.”