"A long time ago, they say, deer had galls and antelope had dew-claws. According to the Pawnees tell, in those days all the animals could talk to each other, and one day the antelope and the deer met out on the prairie. They had quite a talk, giving each other the news, and at last the deer got to bragging about himself, telling how smart he was and how he could beat all the other animals running. 'Why,' says the antelope, 'you may be a pretty considerable fast runner, but you couldn't beat me.' 'Bet you I can,' says the deer. 'Bet you ye can't,' says the antelope.
"Well, they bantered each other for quite a spell, and at last they made it up that they'd run a race on the prairie, and they bet their galls on the race. Whoever won was to take both. Well, at last the day came for the race, and they ran, and the antelope beat the deer all hollow. So the deer handed over his gall to the antelope. He felt terrible bad, about it though, and seemed so broke up that the antelope felt sorry for him and made him a present of his dew-claws, to make his heart good."
As he finished the story, Hugh knocked the fire out of his pipe and said, "Well, let's be going." They mounted and rode back toward the ranch. Jack's heart was full of gladness, and he felt proud of what he had done, and proud that Hugh praised him. As they rode by the stables and up to the house, one of the cowboys called out to Hugh, "Why don't you carry your meat instead of making the kid pack it?" To which Hugh replied, winking at Jack, "The kid killed it, and the kid's got to pack it." Jack thought this a very good joke.
CHAPTER IX
JOHN MONROE, HALF-BREED
When he looked out of the window next morning, Jack could see only a little way, for it was snowing and blowing very hard, and the fine snow-flakes filled the air and were whirled about in dense clouds. The brush and the mountain behind the house could not be seen, and even the stables and corrals were hidden.
After breakfast he sat for a little while by the window, looking out and watching the snow-flakes, but he soon got tired of that. His uncle was writing near the stove. There was no one to talk to, and he did not feel like reading. At length he thought that he would go down to the bunk-house where the men slept, and see what Hugh was doing. He could see the outline of the house amid the whirling snow, and supposed Hugh was there. He told his uncle what he was going to do, and Mr. Sturgis looked up and said, "All right, go down to the bunk-house, but go straight there, don't try to go anywhere else. It is easy to get lost in this snow."
When Jack entered the bunk-house, a great cloud of snow blew in the open door after him, and as he banged it to behind him, he saw Hugh standing up plaiting a raw-hide rope, Reuben mending his saddle with strings of wet raw-hide, which he took from a bucket of water beside him, while Joe had his feet cocked up on the stove and was smoking and talking to the others. Jack went up to the stove and sat down on a box near Reuben, and watched him, and after a moment Joe went on speaking.
"I seen Red Cahill yesterday when I was riding. He was going down from Washakie to the Fort, and calculated he'd stop all night to Powell's. He told me that there's five head of our horses ranging up on Grey Bull. There's the old gotch-eared black mare, and her three-year old, two-year old, and yearling, and that yellow gelding that the boss traded for with them emigrants when they came through here two years ago. You mind we ain't seen that gelding since his feet got well, and I always thought he'd took the trail back the way he come. But it seems not. I don't expect the roundup will fetch them horses in, but it may. Anyhow we can go and get 'em 'most any time, only it's a long way to ride for five head of horses.
"Did Red say anything about the Indians at Washakie?" asked Hugh.