"I guess Old Tom didn't have to say that he was sorry."
And Clint more than agreed.
CHAPTER X
"AMONGST THE MISSING"
The remuda was in the big corrals of the home ranch once more, and after a few "winter" horses was cut out, the rest was hazed towards the winter range, and let go.—Four long winter months went by.—Then one day the round up cook begin to get busy cleaning the chuck box, meadow larks was a tuning up on the high corral posts, and along with the bare patches of ground that could be seen, no better signs was needed that spring had come.
Clint was again the first to spot Smoky that spring and notice the amount of tallow that pony was packing, he was in fine shape for whatever work that'd be his to do that summer, and soon as him and the cowboy got thru with their first "howdys" they both went to work like they never had before.
Smoky took up to where he'd left off the fall before and kept on accumulating science in ways of handling the critter till that critter would just roll up an eye at the sight of the mouse colored pony and never argue as to where he wanted to put 'er;—she'd just go there.
Spring work went on, middle summer came, and sometime after, the fall round up was in full swing again. Thousands of cattle was handled, cut out, and culled. Big herds of fat steers was trailed in to the shipping point and loaded in the cars, and when the weaning was done and the old stock was all brought in close to the cow camps, Jeff headed his wagon towards the home ranch once more. The work was over, the remuda was turned out and the riders that was kept on the payroll saddled their winter horses and scattered out for the outfit's different camps.
Winter came on and set in, then spring bloomed out green once again, and with it the cowboys spread out on the range once more. Season after season followed one another without a ruffle that way, the same territory was covered at the same time of the year, the wagon rolled in at the same grounds, and the rope corral stretched at the same spot, old riders disappeared and new ones took their place, like with the ponies; the old cowhorses was pensioned, replaced by younger ones and the work went on, season after season, year after year, the same outfit rambled out of the home ranch and combed the range like as if no changes was taking place.
Jeff, the cow boss, the round up cook, Clint, and a couple more riders was all that was left of the old hands as the wagon pulled out one spring;—the others'd had cravings for new countries and went and throwed their soogans on some other outfit's wagons.