"It's just great!" exclaimed the man who had been a semi-invalid since coming to Bar U ranch. "I never imagined there was so much work attached to a round-up."
"Oh, there's work all right," said Dave, removing his big hat and wiping the sweat from his brow with a big handkerchief. "It isn't much like locating a water trail, I expect?"
"Not much," assented the visitor, who had now been at the ranch about a week, and who was progressing favorably. His ankle would not yet permit him to step on it, but he managed to get about with the help of his horse. To-day he had ridden out in the chuck wagon to witness the round-up.
"Locating a good place to plant an irrigation scheme is child's play compared to this cattle business," went on Mr. Bellmore. "Still I suppose you get more or less used to it."
"In a way, yes," said Pocus Pete, who rode up just then. "But there are always some things you never can count on. Gimp's horse just broke his leg," he added, more to Dave than to the visitor.
"You don't say!" exclaimed the lad. "That will make Gimp feel bad."
"Well, it's all in the game," added the foreman with a shrug of his shoulders. "That's the end of him," he went on as a shot rang out. There had been little firing of late, for the work of branding the strays and other cattle was almost over.
"Did he shoot him?" asked Mr. Bellmore.
"Th' horse? yes!" said Pete sententiously.
"That's all we can do for a horse when he breaks a leg. He ain't no good to anybody. That's the law of th' range. Yo've got t' make good or quit!"