Excerpt
ROY RECEIVES A MESSAGE
"Hi there, Low Bull, ruste [Transcriber's note: rustle?] around the other way and round up them steers! Hustle now! What's the matter with you? Want to go to sleep on the trail?"
Billy Carew, foreman of the Triple O ranch, addressed these remarks to a rather ugly-looking Indian, who was riding a pony that seemed much too small for him. The Indian, who was employed as a cowboy, was letting his steed amble slowly along, paying little attention to the work of rounding up the cattle.
"Come now, Low Bull, get a move on," advised the foreman. "Make believe you're hunting palefaces," he added, and then, speaking in a lower tone he said: "this is the last time I'll ever hire a lazy Indian to help round-up."
"What's the matter, Billy?" asked a tall, well-built lad, riding up to the foreman.
"Matter? Everything's the matter. Here I foolishly go and give Low Bull charge of the left wing of rounding up these steers, and he's so lazy and good-for-nothing that he'll let half of 'em get away 'fore we get back to the ranch. Get a move on you now!" he called to the Indian, and, seeing that the foreman was very much in earnest, Low Bull urged his pony to a gallop, and began to get the straggling steers into some kind of shape.
"Can't I help you, Billy?" asked the boy.
Since he is to figure largely in this story I shall give you a brief description of him. Roy Bradner was the only son of James Bradner, who owned a large ranch, near the town of Painted Stone, in Colorado. The boy's mother was dead, and he had lived with his father on the ranch ever since he was a baby.
Spending much of his time in the open air, Roy had become almost as strong and sturdy as a man, and in some respects he could do the work of one.
He was quite expert in managing horses, even steeds that had never known a saddle, and at throwing the lariat, or lasso, few on the ranch could beat him. He was a good shot with the revolver and rifle, and, in short, was a typical western boy.
"Can't I help you, Billy?" the lad asked again, as he saw the foreman had not appeared to hear his question.
"Yes, I wish you would, Roy. Ride up there alongside of Low Bull, and sort of keep him up to the mark. It sure looks as if he was going to sleep in the saddle."
"I'll do it, Billy. Where are we going to camp to-night?"
"Well, I guess if we make a few miles more I'll call it a day's work and quit. We've done pretty well, and if Low Bull would have done his share, we'd be nearer the ranch than we are now. I don't want any better round-up men than Nesting Henderson and the rest, but we need another man, and that's why I had to take Low Bull along. But I'll know better next time."
"Never mind, Billy. I'll see if I can't keep him on the go," said Roy, and, with a ringing shout, to hurry up some lagging steers, he touched his horse lightly with the spurs, and dashed toward where the Indian was making a half-hearted effort to keep his division of the drive from straggling.
"I've come to help you, Low Bull," announced Roy, as he reached the side of the Indian....