"Where's Gimp?" asked Dave, referring to the other cowpuncher who had ridden with him. "Oh, he stayed there on guard. Thought it best t' leave him there--to-night anyhow," the foreman said to Mr. Carson. "I understand," was the answer. "We can't afford to lose any of those steers." They were all up late at Bar U ranch that night, for the day had been a momentous one. Then, too, the visit of Mr. Bellmore had created a little diversion. He and Mr. Carson sat up for some time after the others had retired, talking irrigation matters. "I wonder if I'll ever have a part in them?" reflected Dave, as he went to his room. "How long can I stay here, now that I know I am not Dave Carson--but somebody else? And who am I?" Dave's wonderings were not of the most cheerful sort as he fell into an uneasy slumber. CHAPTER XI HAZARDOUS WORK Cowboys rushing here and there. Dust arising in clouds, settling into a hazy mist, only to be shattered again, as some rushing rider rode recklessly through it. Yells, shouts, the snapping of whips, the barking of heavy calibred revolvers, now and then the shrill neigh of a cow-pony. Above all a deep resonant note--a sort of distant thunder--a pounding of the earth as thousands of hoofs smote it at once. That was the scene on which Dave Carson gazed, as he rose in his saddle, his breath coming in quicker measures, while a fierce light shone in his eyes, for he was having a part in it all. It was one of the many round-ups on the Bar U range, and there was work for all, more than enough. "Hi there, Gimp! Watch where yo-all are a-ridin'!" "Swing him over there! I'll handle that critter!" "What's the matter with your fire? Can't git no kind of an impression with irons as cold as a chunk of ice!" "Look out for that cayuse! He's shore a bad 'un!" "Over this way now!" "That's talkin'!" This was only some of the talk, part of the shouts, a few of the yells that were bandied back and forth, as the cowboys rounded up the herd, cut out the designated steers or cows, branded the new ones that had never yet felt the touch of the hot iron, and generally did the work that falls to every ranch at certain times of the year. Dave had been among the busiest, now roping some refractory steer, now helping a cowboy heat the big irons, with their mark "Bar U.", now scudding out of the way on the back of his fleet pony, Crow. Now finding a moment of respite, he galloped up to where Mr. Bellmore was sitting in the shade of the chuck wagon, as the cooking outfit is known. "Well, what do you think of it?" asked the young cowboy, as he pulled his horse back sharply, so that Crow reared. But he was used to that, and Dave was exceptionally gentle with him. "It's just great!" exclaimed the man who had been a semi-invalid since coming to Bar U ranch. "I never imagined there was so much work attached to a round-up."