“You’ll be eight hours on and four off,” instructed Hank, “except when you ride in for meals. Tend to business and don’t bother the cattle except when they’re straying. They’re here to rest and get their flesh on. When they stray too far turn ’em back, but don’t run ’em. I suppose Billy told you about what to do, didn’t he?”
“Yes, sir; he told me to look out for Indians and emigrants passing through.”
There were two herders for the herd to which Davy was appointed. Davy thought that he was lucky in his partner, whose name was the Reverend Benjamin Baxter. When the other men had called him “Reverend,” Davy thought they were joking; but he found out that Mr. Baxter actually was a minister of the gospel. He was a pleasant-faced, thin young man, with dark eyes and hollow cheeks, and an occasional cough. Evidently he was out on the plains for his health. His home was Massachusetts; but in his plains garb and his tan he looked as much of a Westerner as any Missourian. Yes, Davy was lucky to be paired off with Mr. Baxter, who had been well educated and whom everybody seemed to like because, while he was a “preacher” he was also much of a man.
“You ride around your half of the herd and I’ll ride around my half, Davy,” said Mr. Baxter. “When we’re about to meet we’ll turn back. Take things easy. You don’t have to ride every minute, you know; just enough to keep the cattle from straying out where they’re liable to get out of sight or be picked up by somebody passing. I’ll let you know when it’s time to go in for dinner.”
The herding did not strike Davy as hard work, except that it was rather monotonous and steady. It was more interesting at first than later. The cattle, spread out loosely over a wide area, required considerable of a ride along their edges. They were all work cattle—steers or oxen, young and old, used for hauling the wagons of the Russell, Majors & Waddell “bull trains.” Some were decrepit, worn out in the hard service across the plains; others were yet strong, and needed only rest and feed. In the beginning Davy bestirred himself more than was required; he was so afraid lest any of them might stray too far. Soon he was sharp enough to note that as long as they were only grazing, and he could keep his eyes on them, the stragglers might be permitted to have a little freedom to pick the best grass. In fact, the whole herd constantly shifted ground, gradually moving on from clump to clump and patch to patch.
About the middle of the morning Mr. Baxter’s first shift of eight hours was up, and another herder relieved him.
“Now I’ll take a sleep,” he called back, gaily, to Dave as he galloped for the wagon. “Have to sleep when we can, you know.”
Davy continued his herding with the new partner—who was gruff and silent, very different from Mr. Baxter. However, that made little difference, for herding did not give much chance to gossip.
At noon Davy was sent in for his turn at dinner; and when his four hours recess arrived he was glad to dismount at the wagon and lie in the shade. After he had served half the night on night guard and had not made any mistakes, when he crawled in, in the chill and dark, under his quilts, and settled for his short sleep, he felt like a veteran.
So the days and nights passed, of long hours in the saddle and short hours afoot. The bull herd moved from pasturage to pasturage, with Sam and his mess wagon keeping handy. The days were sunny fall, the nights were crisp, the air pure except for the dust stirred up by the hoofs of the herd or sometimes drifting from the great trail, the cattle gave little trouble, the mess food was plenty although about the same every meal, and herding on the plains proved not such a disagreeable business as might have been expected.