Talking and laughing among themselves, at the manner in which they had destroyed the dam, and let in the water to its former course, the cowboys rode along, driving the cattle. Not all who had been summoned for this work were needed to drive the steers, since they went willingly enough. "So some of you had better ride on ahead to the ranch house, and get ready for the round-up tomorrow," said Mr. Carson. "There'll be busy times, then. And, too," he added in a low voice, "I rather want them around the place just at present." "Why?" asked Dave. "Oh, you never can tell what Molick will do," was the answer. "You mean he might try to be revenged on you for opening the dam?" asked Mr. Bellmore. "Something like that--yes. It wouldn't be the first time if a barn or bunk house or a pile of fodder should go up in smoke. Such things have occurred here." "And was it never found out who did it?" "Well, we had our suspicions. Almost always the one who suffered was on the outs with the Molick crowd." "I think I'll ride back myself," Dave said. "I've got a few possessions I wouldn't like to have damaged." "I'll go with you," offered Mr. Bellmore. "There are some valuable papers on this irrigation scheme that I wouldn't like to lose, or see fall into the hands of strangers." "Oh, I don't really believe there is any danger," went on Mr. Carson. "I was just taking the utmost precaution. But ride on if you want to, Dave. We can handle the cattle all right now, and I want to talk to Pocus Pete about the round-up." So Dave and his friend rode on ahead, following some of the cowboys who had been summoned to tear away the dam. Now that the excitement was over Dave felt a little reaction, which generally follows high tension. As Dave looked at the young man riding beside him he could not help contrasting their two positions. "I guess he knows all right who he is," mused Dave. "No worrying about his father and mother or about his future. As for me, I don't know whether I'm a rag-picker's son, or whether I came from a millionaire's family." Yet, as he thought it over more soberly, Dave could not help thinking that he must have had as parents persons in that broad, and altogether desirable, middle class. "If they were millionaires they would hardly have been living in a small Missouri town," reasoned the young cowboy, "and if I came from rag-picker ancestors I'd have had on such ragged clothes that Mr. Carson would have noticed that and spoken of it. And that reminds me. I must ask him about the clothing I wore, and about how old I was. Maybe he kept the garments, and they might form a clew. Yes, that's what I'll do. I'll ask Mr. Carson about it." To himself Dave always thought of the ranchman as "Mr. Carson," though when he spoke he called him "Dad," for he did not want strangers to surmise concerning the secret, nor did he wish to hurt the man who had been a father to him. "Anything wrong?" Inquired Mr. Bellmore, as they cantered along.