The cowboys, all a packing long, yellow slickers, was beginning to tally up on how much wages would be due 'em. As the end of the fall round up drawed near, and as they waded thru slush and mud from the chuck wagon to the rope corral, not many was caring. Wet socks, damp beds, two hours of shivering on night guard, saddling ornery ponies in daytime and when a feller can't even get a footing, and then riding 'em a wondering if them ponies will stand up as they beller and buck on the slick and muddy ground, all left a hankering only for a warm dugout somewheres, where there's a stove, a bunk to set on, and a few magazines to read as mother nature does her best to make the outside miserable.
The last of the beef herd had been turned over to another "wagon" of the Rocking R and shipped, and Jeff's main herd was from then on made up of cows with big weaner calves, and all stock that'd need feeding thru the winter.
"A couple of weeks more now and we'll be seeing the gates of the home ranch," says Jeff one day, but it was a long three weeks before the stock was tended to and when camp was made for the last time. The wet snow had got flaky and dry by then and six inches of it was covering the ground.
"Now hold on a minute, Smoky, and give a feller a chance, wont you?"
It was Clint a talking, and trying to hold Smoky down till he got his foot in the stirrup. The cowboy being all bundled up couldn't handle himself as he'd like to, the little horse was cold, crusted snow had to be rubbed off his back before the saddle could be put on and he was aching to put his head down and go to bucking so he could warm up.
Clint was only half ways in the saddle when that pony lit into it, but the cowboy didn't mind that, his blood was also a long ways from the boiling point and any excuse to get circulating good was welcome.
Around and around him and Smoky went and all in one spot, all the fancy twists of a bucking pony was gone over and the rider met him all the way, and as Clint rode and fanned and laughed, he'd get fast glimpses of other riders and other horses a tearing up the white landscape and getting down to the earth underneath.
It was the last day of the round up, all the work was done, the cook climbed on his seat, grabbed the lines the boys handed him, and letting out a war whoop scared his already spooky team into a long lope towards the home ranch.
The sight of the big gates was a mighty fine one to all as the outfit clattered in, specially with the sky a threatening the way it was, the old cow horses had their ears pointed towards the big pole corrals. They knowed what the sight of them meant at that time of the year and none tried to break away as the wrangler run 'em in. They was turned out in a big pasture that night, and the next day a couple of riders came, bunched 'em up, and took 'em thru another gate leading out of the ranch.