Cowboy Dave; Or, The Round-up at Rolling River Part 19

"Well?" asked Dave.

"It's all off," the Chicago man said. "I've ended negotiations with them, and I'm sorry I ever tried to do business. But it will be all right. They can do business in their own way, and we'll do ours as we please. I'll look into the irrigation possibilities on your property now, Mr. Carson.

We'll not hear anything more from the Molick outfit."

But Mr. Bellmore failed to reckon on the mean characters of the Molick father and son. It was only a few days after this that one of the cowboys came riding post-haste to the ranch house. He dismounted in a cloud of dust, and seeing Dave and Mr. Carson standing together hurried toward them, calling out:

"Th' bottom must have dropped out of Rolling River. It's almost dry down below there, where I've got that bunch of fine cattle, and they can't get anything to drink. What are we going to do? Something must have happened to th' river."

"What can it be?" cried Dave. "Has an earthquake occurred, or has the river unexpectedly taken an underground course?"

"Neither one, I imagine," said Mr. Carson, slowly. "This is retaliation, I fancy. I'll go back with you Skinny, and see what has happened. But I'm sure it's retaliation."

CHAPTER XVI

UNAVAILING EFFORTS

Dave, who had heard this talk, leaped on the back of Crow, and followed Mr. Carson and the cowboy who rejoiced in the euphonious t.i.tle of "Skinny."

"What do you mean by retaliation, Dad?" he asked. "Has it anything to do with the Molicks?"

"A whole lot to do with them, Dave, I'm afraid," was the reply.

"You mean they have diverted some of your water?"

"Some of it! Better say all of it!" exclaimed the disgusted Skinny. "There ain't enough comin' down Rollin' River, over where I come from, t' make a cup of coffee."

"As bad as that?" asked Mr. Carson in alarm.

"Well, almost. I got skeered and made up my mind I'd come and tell you about it."

"You did just right, Skinny. We may be able to get ahead of these chaps after all."

"I hope we can," murmured Dave.

Though Dave had seldom, for any length of time, lost sight of the fact that he was a "n.o.body," still he could not help feeling an interest in the ranch, which had been the only home he had known for a long time. In fact it was really the only home he knew, for he did not, of course, recall his days of babyhood. And now, though Dave knew that he was not Mr. Carson's son, though he realized that he might never inherit the broad acres over which roamed thousands of cattle, still he retained the feeling of loyalty and fealty that caused him to hope for the best.

"I wonder if I'll ever find my real folks," mused Dave, as he rode on with Mr. Carson and Skinny. "It's hardly possible, after all these years."

Over the rolling plains they rode, now and then catching sight of distant herds of cattle under the guard of cowboys, again gaining a view of the distant Centre O ranch. But they saw no sign of Molick or Len, nor could they catch, in the direction they were going, a glimpse of the place where the fence work and dam building had been going on.

A little later they topped another rise, and began to descend into a sheltered and fertile valley where Mr. Carson usually sent his choice cattle to fatten before shipping them to the dealers in Chicago and elsewhere.

As the three came within sight of this valley they saw a strange sight Instead of the cattle quietly grazing, with perhaps small bunches of them wandering now and then to the banks of the stream to get a drink, the whole herd seemed scattered along the water course. And instead of quietly drinking the cattle seemed fighting among themselves. Pushing, struggling, rearing with heads up against one another, bellowing and stampeding.

On the outside vainly rode two or three cowboys who were doing their best to keep the rearmost cattle from rushing over those in the front rank, who were nearest the water.

"What does it mean?" demanded Mr. Carson of Skinny, as he urged his horse forward. "What does it mean?"

"It's a stampede!" cried Dave. "Maybe Len is trying some of his mean tricks again."

"It's a trick, but it isn't any like that," said Skinny. "None of that Molick crowd is around here now."

"But what's the matter?" demanded the ranchman.

"Water--or, rather lack of water," said the cowboy briefly. "The cattle are half mad with thirst I expect. And I guess maybe it isn't so much of a real thirst as it is the fear that there won't be any water left after an hour or two. Cattle know more that way than we give 'em credit for."

"This is serious!" exclaimed Mr. Carson.

"I thought you'd think so. That's why I come for you," Skinny explained.

The three rode down the slope, the confusion among the cattle increasing every moment.

"What can you do?" asked Dave.

"Have to drive 'em over to the other range, there's water there, I should think," Mr. Carson answered. "That is, if Molick and his bunch haven't tried any of their tricks there."

"No, they can't stop the supply there," said Skinny. "It's only here, where the river takes a sharp turn above us, that they could cut off the supply."

"Then you think there's no question but that they did it?" as had Dave of Mr. Carson.

"Hardly any doubt," was the reply. "But of course I'll look into it. Watch out now, Dave. Those cattle are fairly wild, and I don't want you to be hurt."

The ranchman looked affectionately at the youth, and Dave felt a warm spot in his heart for the man who had done so much for him.

"I don't believe we can drive 'em back until they've licked up every last drop," said Skinny. "Then they'll know there's no use in stayin' and we may be able to do somethin' with 'em."

"Is it drying up as badly as that?" asked Mr. Carson.

"You'll soon see," was the answer.

Only skillful cowpunchers could have made their way through that maddened, seething, wild herd of cattle. But Dave, Mr. Carson and Skinny were more at home in the saddle than afoot. Their intelligent ponies pushed their way through the heaving ma.s.s of steers until the three of them stood on the brink of what had been a fair-sized branch of the Rolling River but a few hours before.

Now all that showed was a small, narrow ribbon of muddy water, in the clay-like expanse of what had been the bed of the original stream.

"Whew!" whistled Mr. Carson. "This sure is bad!"

"I should say so!" exclaimed Dave.

A sharp bend in the course of the stream above them cut off all but a very limited view. But, as far as they could see, the same conditions prevailed. There was only a small trickle of water. It was in the very middle, the lowest point of the stream, and up to the very edge of this the thirst-tortured cattle pressed, sinking down deep in the soft mud.

"We've got to get 'em out of that," declared the ranchman. "A lot of 'em will be mired if we don't."

"There are some mired now," said Skinny, pointing. "Ed and Foster are trying to yank 'em out."