“No they won’t. We’ve just as much right to keep out of their way as they have to hunt us up. But they never waste any time in hunting up settlers. All they care for is the stock; and they gobble it up and get out of the country with it as quickly as they can. Of course, if a fellow gets in their way he stands a chance of being popped over.”
“Do you all go in the house when the raiders come?”
“Bless you, no. Some of us herdsmen are fifty or a hundred miles away, and we couldn’t get back there if we tried. Besides, it would be poor management to bring our different herds all together so that the raiders could swoop down and stampede them. You see we know about what time to expect these raids. They are generally made about the time of the full moon, and if a herder is alert and watchful he will have his stock out of the way.”
“What will he do with it?”
“He will drive it farther back in the country than the Greasers care to come. Perhaps we had better turn off the trail a little way. It runs through an open country here, and if there are any reds about, we want to keep out of their sight.”
Again Gus wondered how in the world Mose could talk about these things in this careless, indifferent way. He seemed to care no more for Indians and Mexicans than his pony did for the grass he trampled under his feet. While Gus was trembling all over with excitement and apprehension Mose was as cool as a cucumber, and whistled and talked as cheerfully as he had done ever since leaving Palos. He slept just as soundly at night, too, relying on his pony, which was always picketed near the camp, to give him notice of the approach of danger.
“You must know,” he said to Gus, one night, “that horses and dogs are a good deal like the people among whom they live, and seem to share in their likes and dislikes. An Indian’s dog or pony has no more affection for a white man than his master has; while a white man’s dog or pony will raise an awful row, if a redskin shows his ugly face over a hill, anywhere within smelling or seeing distance of him.”
But Gus did not place so much confidence in the mustang as his owner did, and he could not sleep. He lay awake almost every night, starting at the least unusual sound, and was always greatly relieved when morning came. It was so gloomy and lonely on the prairie after dark, and the wolves howled so mournfully! Gus was growing heartily tired of this sort of life, and although his companion assured him that they were making good time now, and rapidly nearing their journey’s end, he was continually urging him to go faster. How his heart bounded, when Mose one day said, in reply to this request:
“There is no need of it. We are almost there. When we reach the top of the next swell, you can see the rancho.”
Just then a horseman made his appearance on the summit of the swell of which Mose had spoken, and after gazing steadily at them for a moment, came forward at a rapid gallop. There was no need that Gus should ask who he was, for he knew as soon as he saw him that it was Ned Ackerman. He galloped on ahead to meet him, and if one might judge by the way the two boys greeted each other, they were very glad to meet again. They had a multitude of questions to ask and answer, and Mose, seeing that they were too fully occupied with their own affairs to pay any attention to him, rode on and left them alone.