"The others are tied up yet, Mr. Murphy," the man ventured.
"What! Not out yet?" roared the boss. A regular tirade followed, and John realized that he must do his work well to escape a tongue-lashing. He was rather staggered at the order to saddle up and get out at ten o'clock at night, with a lot of strange horses, in a country he did not know.
"Say, Frank," he said to his friend, who was busy unloading the rolled-up "beds" or bedding, "this is no joke; I don't want to lose a lot of horses and maybe kill myself in the bargain—it's going it blind with a vengeance."
"You'd better make a stab at it, anyhow," he was advised. "The old man's raging, and you might lose your job if you showed the white feather."
"You ready yet, Worth?" It was Murphy's voice, and John jumped at the sound of it.
"Give me a hand, Frank, will you. Bring the blasted old cayuse over here while I get the saddle ready. I'll do it or bust," and John suited the action to the word.
In a few minutes the boy was in the saddle and following the already straggling bunch of horses.
"Keep your eye open for prospect holes," shouted Frank.
"You want to watch those horses like thunder, Worth," called out Murphy, who seemed to be everywhere at once. "They're strangers to each other, and they'll split up and scatter to the four winds if you don't watch 'em. Some's from Oregon and some's from Utah, and if they get separated it'll cost mor'n they're worth to get 'em back again. You've got fifty-six head—keep counting 'em." The "old man" apparently did not want him to get beyond the sound of his voice, but kept following and shouting instructions. Perhaps he realized that he was giving the boy a trying, and possibly dangerous, task.
"All right," shouted John cheerfully, but at heart he was not so confident.