"I tell you fellows, 'tain't no fun to swim a bunch of steers when the water is as cold as it is now." The speaker was a short, thick-set cowboy, whose fiery red hair had gained for him the sobriquet of "Colorado," the Mexican name for red, which was frequently shortened to "Colly" among the "punchers."
Colorado, who was carefully rolling a cigarette, glanced around the circle of listeners, as if challenging some one to contradict him. The balance of the boys evidently agreed with him, for no one said a word except the "Kid," and he, after taking his pipe from his lips and carefully knocking out the ashes on the heel of his boot, said:
"'Jever have any 'sperience at it, Colly?"
Colorado by this time had finished rolling his cigarette and was waiting for the cook's pot-hook, which he had thrust into the campfire, to get red-hot, to light it. Having done this and taken a few preliminary puffs, he answered:
"Yes, I hev, and a mighty tough one it was, too."
"Tell us about it, Colorado," said the cook. "Whar was it, an' how did it happen?"
"Yes, Colly, le's hear the story," chimed in the Kid.
It was just the time for a story. We had come down to the railroad with a bunch of steers, and found the Little Colorado River, which ran between us and the railroad, swollen to a mighty torrent by the rains in the mountains.
We had waited four days for it to go down, but it seemed rather to rise a little each day. As the feed was poor and we had lots of work to do, the boss was in a hurry to get them shipped and off his hands, and so had just announced, that at daylight the next morning he meant to try to swim the herd across. It was late in October and the weather was snappy cold. Overcoats and heavy clothes were an absolute necessity in the night on guard around the herd, and the idea of going into that cold water was not a pleasant one. But the cow-puncher is much like the sailor, in that he never stops to think of getting wet, or cold, or going into any danger as long as the boss himself will lead the way; so we were all prepared to get a soaking the next day.
It was that pleasant time in the evening between sunset and dark. The herd was bedded down near camp, and the first guard were making their rounds, with never a steer to turn back. The balance of us were lying about the campfire, smoking and talking "hoss," a subject which is never worn threadbare in a cow-camp. Colorado, who had been idly marking out brands in the sand in front of him with the end of his fingers, said: