“Haw, haw! Why, they ain’t hurt none. They jest bawl for their mammas. Sometimes, though, we hev to hurt one jest to find which is his mamma.”
“I want to know how you tell what brand to put on those calves that are separated from their mothers,” asked Madeline.
“Thet’s decided by the round-up bosses. I’ve one boss an’ Don Carlos has one. They decide everything, an’ they hev to be obyed. There’s Nick Steele, my boss. Watch him! He’s ridin’ a bay in among the cattle there. He orders the calves an’ steers to be cut out. Then the cowboys do the cuttin’ out an’ the brandin’. We try to divide up the mavericks as near as possible.”
At this juncture Madeline’s brother joined the group, evidently in search of Stillwell.
“Bill, Nels just rode in,” he said.
“Good! We sure need him. Any news of Danny Mains?”
“No. Nels said he lost the trail when he got on hard ground.”
“Wal, wal. Say, Al, your sister is sure takin’ to the round-up. An’ the boys are gettin’ wise. See thet sun-of-a-gun Ambrose cuttin’ capers all around. He’ll sure do his prettiest. Ambrose is a ladies’ man, he thinks.”
The two men and Florence joined in a little pleasant teasing of Madeline, and drew her attention to what appeared to be really unnecessary feats of horsemanship all made in her vicinity. The cowboys evinced their interest in covert glances while recoiling a lasso or while passing to and fro. It was all too serious for Madeline to be amused at that moment. She did not care to talk. She sat her horse and watched.
The lithe, dark vaqueros fascinated her. They were here, there, everywhere, with lariats flying, horses plunging back, jerking calves and yearlings to the grass. They were cruel to their mounts, cruel to their cattle. Madeline winced as the great silver rowels of the spurs went plowing into the flanks of their horses. She saw these spurs stained with blood, choked with hair. She saw the vaqueros break the legs of calves and let them lie till a white cowboy came along and shot them. Calves were jerked down and dragged many yards; steers were pulled by one leg. These vaqueros were the most superb horsemen Madeline had ever seen, and she had seen the Cossacks and Tatars of the Russian steppes. They were swift, graceful, daring; they never failed to catch a running steer, and the lassoes always went true. What sharp dashes the horses made, and wheelings here and there, and sudden stops, and how they braced themselves to withstand the shock!