"Yes, there was much trouble; it sometimes breaks out, even now," answered Mr. Irwin. "But the building of railroads, the coming of homesteaders and farmers, have blazed a trail of civilization which has forced the stockmen further and further back in the interior. The open range is fast becoming ancient history."
"And towns are springing up, too," put in Dave.
"Yes, it was bound to come." The cattle king sighed, as if recalling old times, adding: "You can see that under these changed conditions land is far too valuable to be used merely as a feeding ground for herds of roving cattle. But here we are, boys."
He opened an iron gate leading into one of the smaller corrals, and they entered.
The boys had before them a collection of as wicked-looking little bronchos as they had ever seen. At the intrusion, there immediately followed a tremendous commotion among the animals. Those close to the gate galloped away, swung around, pawed the ground, danced and capered about. Tails were lashing; neighs and snorts filled the air; a dull thud of pounding hoofs sounded.
"Gee!" murmured Jack Conroy.
"A lively lot," said the ranchman. "Some of the boys will be along pretty soon; they'll lasso 'em for you." He turned toward the entrance. "Hello, Buckley!" he yelled.
In a few moments, a tall, slim man came hurrying into the corral, to stare in open-mouthed astonishment at the seven.
"When the boys get in, send them over," said the cattle king, tersely. "That's all, Buckley. See anything you like, Ramblers?—they're all good stock. Don't venture out too far—danger of getting bowled over, you know."
The ponies were all in motion again, now huddled together in a compact mass, then scattering over the turf, their swiftly-moving bodies intermingling, to form currents of changing color. As the din of hoofs grew louder, the yellow streamers of dust rose in thicker clouds.