“I got him,” he called, as the rope circled out through the air, and drew taut and snug over something. “He’s a dandy little cub. I brought him in last week. Two months old. From Badger Hole Creek. The herders said the mother was shot when she was hanging around the sheep one night nearly two weeks ago. This little shaver must have been trying to find her ever since. I’m going to tame him.”
Tenderly he bent over the palpitating little form, and loosened the rope. The wolf cub looked like a shaggy, big-headed little Spitz dog, with a very pointed nose. It tried to burrow down in Don’s coat sleeve, and he trotted it back to its new home, a cage he had fashioned for it in the shade of the wagon shed.
“What’s his name, Don?” asked Sue, eagerly.
“Kink,” grinned back Don. “Suits him, doesn’t it? I’ll have him tamed in a month, but he’s pretty shy now.”
“Breakfast,” called Mrs. Murray from the back door of the house, and they hurried back to the cabin to dress.
“Put on your riding skirts,” warned Jean. When they had finished eating, there was no delay about the start. Don had the five ponies saddled in a few minutes, and this time it was easier mounting, but it was still hard to get accustomed to the movement of the ponies.
“I feel as if I were going to tumble off any minute,” Ruth declared.
“You should ride the funny little burros down in Colorado if you want a good jogging,” Jean said. “Last summer mother was pretty well tired out after the shearing and shipping and all that, so after the extra helpers had gone, I took her down for a little trip to the Springs, and we had a good time. It was her first vacation in thirty years. I don’t like to ride burros at all. The best horses for these roads are the cross-breeds, half Indian pony, half easterner, like ours.”
“Oh, aren’t we going on Topnotch to-day?” asked Ted, as they took the opposite turn at the creek crossing.
“No. We’re bound for the north this time. It’s a good ride, and easy for you, and you’ll get used to the saddle.”