“Sure,” said Bobby. “Let’s drift! Only a mile or so.”
We all went to the ranch next day;
Brown augured me most all the way;
He said cowpunching was only play,
There was no work at all.
“All you have to do is ride,
It’s just like drifting with the tide——”
Lord have mercy, how he lied!
He had a most horrible gall!
The walling hills were higher now. The cañon fell away swiftly to downward plunge, gravel between cut banks. Just above the horse camp it made a sharp double-S curve. Riding across a short cut of shoulder, Bob, in the lead, held up a hand to check the others. He rode up on a little platform to the right, from which, as pedestal, rose a great hill of red sandstone, square-topped and incredibly steep. Bobby waved his hat; a man on foot appeared on the crest of the red hill and zigzagged down the steeps. He wore a steeple-crowned hat and he carried a long rifle in the crook of his arm.
Johnny’s eyes widened. He exchanged a glance with Hales; and he observed that Smith and Hales did not look at each other. Yet they had—so Johnny thought—one brief glance coming to them, under the circumstances.
Hales pitched his voice low.
“You was lying about them bears, of course?”
“Got to keep boys in their place,” said Johnny in the same guarded undertone. “If them bears had really been pets do you suppose I’d ever have opened my head about it?”
“It went down easy.” Hales grinned his admiration. “You taken one chance though—about his night horse.”
“Not being scared, you mean? Well, he hasn’t mentioned any horse having a fit. And I reckoned maybe he hadn’t kept up any night horse. Really nothing much for him to do. Except cooking.”
“He does seem to have a right smart of company,” agreed Hales.