Sunrise found them all awake, fed, and ready for business. Saddling their ponies, they struck for the herd as lively as the bucking bronchos that they rode.
Fred was given the task at first to herd the extra horses; but Noisy happened to get pitched from his pony, sustaining a sprained ankle, and he was given this lighter task, while Fred, much to his joy, was sent to help Dan, Dick, and Jim cut out the Bar B cattle from the big herd, which was now bunched rather compactly on the flat, with cowboys circled about it.
The term “roundup” has a rather romantic connotation. It has gathered a picturesque meaning. All the cowboy life seems to focus in this crowning part of his work. The excitement of the chase, the tests of skill with rope and horse, the grit and daring of it all, added to the unexpected that always happens—so thrill and fill the roundup with significance that it is small wonder this time has come to stand out so distinctly as the cowboy’s carnival.
Fred came to this, his first roundup, with joyous anticipation. His reading of cowboy stories, so-called, had given him a good many impressions that needed correcting. Before the day had passed he found out that there is more reality than romance in the roundup.
All day long, amid the bawling roar of the excited herd, in clouds of choking dust, whipped up by the shifting cattle and plunging horses, the cutting out went on. From early morn till just before dark, the dust-covered, sweat-streaked men and ponies kept up their struggle to separate the cattle that belonged to their respective ranches from the rest of the big bellowing bunch.
Slowly the watchful rider and horse, working together like a centaur, would circle the herd till the right mark or brand was spied. A touch of the rider’s heel and the horse would leap straight toward the animal that bore the brand, pushing in among the restless cattle till close upon the picked “critter,” and there the horse would stay till the cow was crowded to the edge and forced to break from the herd, to be rushed with a whoop, at cow-gallop, pell-mell across the flat to the growing bunch where she belonged.
Dan and Jim were adept at the business. Their trained horses, too, showed almost human intelligence. Chief was especially skillful. Once he sighted his victim, he clung to its flanks like a leech, turning, twisting, following its every move till he chased it home. Dick and Fred, given the task of helping hold the main herd, had no part at the beginning in the “cutting out”; but after a time Dan, to give Chief a rest, told them to go into the fun for a while. Both of them leaped at the chance, and they managed fairly well for “tenderfeet.”
But it wasn’t all fun. They went at it nervously and soon both they and their horses were ready to quit. Noon came and passed. There was no stopping for dinner. The dust grew thicker as they grew hungrier. Their tempers began to get a rough edge; and occasionally they let loose their ugly feelings.
Fred was sent to help hold the Bar B herd. The big bunch had dwindled to a handful. Finally the last cow was cut out and Dick and Jim brought her whooping across the flat. For a closing flourish as they plunged up to their herd, they jerked out their revolvers and emptied them into the air. The nervous cattle jumped as if shot and bolted across the flat with the boys full chase behind them. Fred was on Brownie, who was straining every nerve to get ahead and turn the herd, when suddenly she lurched and fell, throwing the boy over her head. The herd swept on. Fred lay dazed for a moment, then he rose and went to his little mare. She had staggered to her feet and stood trembling with pain. The boy was stunned to find one of her front legs broken. A badger hole had done its wicked work. The boy turned heartsick; he threw his arms about the suffering animal’s neck and cried like a child.
Jim was the first to find the boy in his trouble.