The Boy from the Ranch | Page 3

plains."
"Too much work. Indian no like work. Like sit an' think, an' smoke. No like work."
"Everybody's got to work in this world, Low Bull."
"Rich man no work. Me like be rich man."
"But the man sure had to work hard to get rich. I s'pose rich men feel that they can take life easy after they have earned a fortune."
"Indian no like work. Drive cattle too hard. Me quit soon," was all Low Bull replied.
"Yes, and if you don't quit I think Billy will make you vamoose anyhow," murmured Roy.
Low Bull rolled another cigarette, and seemed to go to sleep under the influence of it. Roy had to race off after a couple of straying steers, and had no further time for talking. When he had brought the cattle back, a long, shrill cry echoed over the plain. At the sound of it Low Bull seemed to wake up.
"Billy make camp now," he said. "Soon supper--eat--Low Bull hungry."
It was the signal for making camp, and, finding themselves no longer urged forward, the steers stopped, and began to crop the rich grass.
The cowboys, of whom there were several, with joyful shouts, came riding up to the cook wagon, which had been pulled along in the rear, but which now came to a halt on the broad, rolling plain. "Smoke" Tardell started a fire from grease-wood, and began to prepare the evening meal.
"Set out plenty of grub, Smoke," called one of the cowboys, riding close up to Tardell, and playfully snatching his big sombrero off.
"Here! You let that be, Bruce Arkdell!" exclaimed the cook. "That's my new hat, an' I don't want it spoiled!"
"Give me an extra plate of beans, or I'll shoot a hole in it!" threatened the cowboy, drawing hit heavy revolver, and aiming it at the hat, which he held in one hand.
"All right. You can have three platesful, but don't you spoil my hat!" cried the cook, as he received back his sombrero. "I never see such crazy chaps as them boys be when they're headed for the ranch," muttered "Smoke," as he set the coffee pot over the fire.
It did not take long to prepare the meal, and the cowboys crowded around the "grub wagon" as they called it. Low Bull was among them, his eyes greedy for food.
"Here, Low Bull," exclaimed Billy Carew, "you go out and ride around them steers awhile. They ain't quieted down yet, and I don't want no stampede now. Ride around 'em, and make 'em feel easy."
"After supper," said the Indian.
"No, now!" insisted the foreman.
"Low Bull hungry. Like eat."
"Low Bull is going to stay hungry then, until some of the others have piled in their grub," declared Billy. "I'll send somebody out to take your place, as soon as they've eaten. Now vamoose!"
"Low Bull like eat."
"Yes, I know. Low Bull like eat, but no like work. That's what's the matter with Low Bull," exclaimed Billy with a laugh. "Now git."
The Indian knew there was no use disputing this decision, so, with no very good grace, he started to ride slowly around the cattle, to keep them from moving off in a body.
"I'll go out and relieve him in a little while," offered Roy. "I'll soon be through supper."
"You take your time now, son," advised Billy. "It won't hurt that redskin to go hungry a while. Maybe he'll be a little sprier after this."
Supper was soon served, and when Roy had eaten his share he prepared to go out, and relieve Low Bull. He threw the saddle over his pony's back, and, having tightened the girths, was about to vault into place, when he and the other cowboys became aware that some one was riding in great haste toward the temporary camp.
"Somebody's coming," remarked Bruce Arkdell.
"Don't you s'pose we know it," said Billy good naturedly. "We've got our sight yet."
"Yes, and it's Porter Simms, from the way he gallops," added the cook, shading his eyes from the setting sun, and peering across the prairies at the riding man.
"'Tis Porter," confirmed Billy. "Wonder what he wants? Hope nothing's happened."
Somehow the words sent a slight feeling of fear to Roy's heart. The man might have bad news for some one in camp.
"Is Roy here?" cried Porter, as soon as he had come within talking distance.
"Yes, I'm here," replied the boy. "What's the matter? Is it my father--?"
"Now don't go gettin' skeered," advised Porter, as he pulled up his horse sharply. "I sure did ride fast to locate you, but your daddy wanted me to be sure to tell you, first-off, not to git skeered."
"What's the matter?" asked Roy, his heart fluttering.
"Well, your daddy's a little under the weather, and he wants for you to come back to the ranch right away. That's the message I was to give to you. Don't wait to come in