Photo by Harry Mintz, Binghamton, N. Y.
McIntyre had detailed Jack to act through the day as one of the calf branders, and all day long he was busy roping calves, dragging them up to the fire and helping to hold them down, while some one clapped on the iron. It was not pleasant work—the smoke of singed hair rose from the animal's side, and the poor creature bawled piteously; but, after all, a great many painful and disagreeable things have to be done, and this was one of them.
As the day went by, and Jack got hotter and more thirsty and more dusty and more tired, he derived a little amusement from wondering what some of those eastern pilgrims, who had talked to him of the romance of the cowboy's life would think of that life if for one day they had to do the work that the cowboy has to do every day. No one can imagine the weary monotony of doing this work over and over again; the strength that it may take to hold the calf; the heat from the fires; the cloud of dust, grime and ashes among which one works; the constant trifling annoyances of being burned by a hot iron, being kicked by a frisky calf, or having one's hands hurt by the rope. All these things, combined with the physical force that is constantly called into play, make the work laborious and tiresome. The romance of the cowboy's life exists only in the imagination. Of course the boys are cheerful and merry, laughing and joking all the time, making fun of their own mishaps, or of those of their neighbors, and this constant flow of good spirits makes the work far lighter than it otherwise would be.
Now and then during the day, a little variety was offered by some cow that, pestered beyond endurance, at last refused to run any longer and turned to fight. Such a cow becomes at once a dangerous animal; and to get her calf away from her, unless it can be frightened into leaving its mother for a short distance, is sometimes difficult.
Jack met with such a cow, which, after wasting a little energy in charging him, contented herself with standing still and threatening with her horns, while the calf stuck close to her side. Two or three times Jack rode swiftly by her and threw his rope at the calf, but the little beast stood so close under its mother's side that in no case did the rope catch it. Jack tried to ride near enough to the calf to lash it with his rope, in the hope that this would start it out from its position of safety, but the attempt was a failure, and the second time he did this the cow charged him viciously. He wheeled his horse and got away, but the long horns swept so close that it gave him a moment's uneasiness lest his horse should be harmed. He whirled quickly to get back to the cow, thinking that possibly the calf might have been left behind, but this had not happened: it was still close to its mother.
About this time, Joe swept by him dragging a calf at the end of his rope, and a few moments later, after the calf had been turned loose, Joe returned.
"Why, here's my chance to pay you off for what you did for me this morning," he said to Jack. "Rope the old cow's horns and I'll take her hind feet and we'll stretch her."
No sooner said than done. In a moment Jack's rope settled over the cow's horns, and as she at first pulled back and then started forward, Joe very cleverly picked up both her hind feet and turned his horse the other way; instantly the cow was stretched out helpless on the prairie. Jack made his rope fast to the horn of his saddle, and left his horse to hold the cow while he ran back to her. Joe in the meantime rode forward toward the cow's head, thus bringing her hind feet up under her breast; and in a moment she was securely tied. The calf had run off a few yards, and stood there bewildered.