Cowboy Dave; Or, The Round-up at Rolling River Part 14

"While he lasted," added Pete. "But Gimp pulled him around too sudden like, I'm thinkin', t' get out of the way of an onery steer. Well, that's th' way it goes!"

And Dave, as he thought of his own new and peculiar position, wondered if that was to be his way. He was really no one now. Would he be thrust aside, and not counted as one of the family?

And yet, as he reflected on the fact that Mr. Carson had always known of their relation--or, rather their lack of relation--he would not be likely to change.

"I wonder if I'll ever find out who my parents are?" thought Dave. "I must have some folks, somewhere."

But as he recalled what had been told him--how he had been swept down the river in a great flood--the chances that he had any kin living seemed more and more remote.

But the boy was awakened out of his momentary brown study.

"Hi there!"

"Look out for that critter!"

"He's a bad one!"

"Rope him!"

Such were the wild cries that greeted Dave as he spurred away from the chuck wagon toward what seemed more than the usual commotion. A steer that had been roped and thrown that a new brand might be put over the almost obliterated one, had broken away and regained its feet and was wildly rushing here and there.

A la.s.so had been thrown over his head, and this now trailed in the dust Several of the cowboys, clapping spurs to their ponies, set off either to throw more ropes about the escaping beast, or else to grasp the trailing lariat.

"Take him, Dave!" cried Pocus Pete, who wanted the lad to get as much practical experience as possible.

"I'll get him," was the instant call in response.

"Look at him go!" murmured Mr. Bellmore, who half rose from a pile of blankets to watch the antics of the steer.

"Yes, that boy of mine can ride!" said Mr. Carson, who was looking on. A tender look came into his eyes.

No one looking at him would have suspected that, only a comparatively short time before, he had confessed to this same lad that there was no real relationship between them. That they were actually, strangers, save that there was a love between them that could only come of long a.s.sociation.

"Yes. He surely can ride," murmured the ranch owner. "If he lives I hope he'll succeed me as operator here. And if I can put through your irrigation scheme it will make Bar U one of the best ranches in this part of the country."

"Oh, we'll put it through all right," said the Chicago man. "Don't worry about that. We'll put it through."

"If Molick doesn't kick up a row," observed Mr. Carson.

"Yes, of course we've got to look out for him. But I think--"

Mr. Bellmore never finished his sentence.

"Look out, Dave!" he yelled, as if he could warn the lad who was riding toward the rushing steer.

"Oh! Oh!" gasped Mr. Carson.

The next instant they both saw the trailing rope on the steer's head tangle around the legs of Dave's pony. The plucky Crow made a brave effort to keep his feet. But a moment later he went down heavily in a cloud of dust with his rider, while the maddened steer, brought up short, reared and seemed to fall backward on pony and cowboy.

CHAPTER XII

THE FIGHT

With one bound, it seemed, Mr. Carson leaped away from the side of his invalid guest, and was in the saddle of his favorite pony, that had been standing near the chuck wagon.

"He's killed!" was the thought that came instantly into the mind of Mr.

Bellmore. "No rider could suffer such a fall, and live!"

Such an idea, too, it seemed, was in the thought of the ranch owner, for he was slightly pale underneath his coat of tan as he spurred his steed forward.

A number of other cowboys had seen the happening, and those who could leave the work in which they were engaged, started for the scene of the accident. But there were some, holding down a refractory steer, or engaged in putting on the hot branding irons, who only looked over, shrugged their shoulders, and kept on with their tasks.

For that, too, was the law of the range. If a man had a fall, he was either killed or he was not killed. If he was killed there was no use dropping important work to go to his aid. If he was not killed he must either help himself, or take such help as could be sent to him at the time.

Cruel, perhaps you will say, but it was eminently practical, and, after all, that is life.

If Dave was really dead no power the cowboys could exert would save him.

The accident had happened--it was over with--and that was all there was to it.

Of course some did go to his aid--Mr. Carson and several of the less busy punchers. And, to do justice to the others, not a man but, would have rushed to help Dave had he been in a position to do so. But the work of the ranch must go on--and it did.

Long before Mr. Carson reached the scene, or, for that matter, before any of the others were in a position to help Dave, a movement was observed in the tangle of pony, rider and steer. Just who, or which, was doing the moving it was hard to determine, as the haze of dust still overhung everything.

"Can a person live after that mix-up?" asked Mr. Bellmore, speaking aloud, unconsciously.

"Oh, him plenty mluch alive!" glibly replied the Chinese cook. "Dave he plenty mluch hab fall, an' he come up smilin'."

"Oh, he does; eh?" asked the Chicago man.

"Sure!" was the answer, given with a bland grin. "He clum' up smilin'."

"Well, I hope he does," was the comment.

By this time it could be seen that Dave was at least alive. Out of the haze of dust he limped, But the steer lay p.r.o.ne.

Mr. Carson jumped from his horse, and an instant later had the young cowboy in his arms.

"Dave! Dave!" he cried. "My boy! My boy! Tell me you're not hurt!"

As the other cowboys rode up one of them gave a look at the prostrate steer.

"He's done for," he commented.

It needed but a look at the curiously and grotesquely twisted neck of the animal to tell that it was broken.