Tales from the X-bar Horse Camp: The Blue-Roan "Outlaw" and Other StoriesBarnes, Will C. (Will Croft)
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Tales from the X-bar Horse Camp: The Blue-Roan "Outlaw" and Other Stories
Barnes, Will C. (Will Croft)
Horses -- Fiction; Western stories
Before we got there the rain began, and we were all wet to the skin; but
we tied up our ponies again, and five seconds after I lay down I was
sound asleep and heard nothing till the cook started his unearthly yell
of "Roll out, roll out, chuck away." I threw back the heavy canvas, that
I had pulled over my head to keep the rain out of my face, and got up.
The storm was over. In the East the morning star was just beginning to
fade, and the sky was taking that peculiar gray look that precedes the
dawn and sunrise. The night-horse wrangler was working his horses up
toward camp, and the three or four bells in the bunch jingled merrily
and musically in the cool, fresh, morning air.
We were all sleepy and cold, and as we gathered around the fire to eat,
some one said, "Where's Flowers?" The foreman glanced around the circle
of men, set down his plate and cup, and strode over to where Tom had
rolled out his bed the evening before. It was empty, and, what was
more, hadn't been slept in at all. A hasty questioning developed the
fact that none of us had noticed him after we had come in from the
stampede.
"Well," said Jack, "it's one of two things: either he has run into one
of those blamed cracks and is hurt, or else he has a bunch of steers
that got cut off from the herd in the rain and has had to stay with 'em
all night, because he got so far from camp he couldn't work 'em back
alone." As this was not an unusual thing we all felt sure it was the
case, and after a hasty breakfast, all of us but the men just off guard,
struck out to look for him.
Some way I felt a premonition of trouble as I rode out into the prairie,
and leaving the rest to scatter out in different directions I rode
straight for the cracks. It was an easy matter to trail up the herd, and
as I loped along I couldn't get the song out of my head. As I drew near
the crack country I saw by the trail that we had not been at the leaders
when we thought we were, but had cut in between them and the main herd.
I could see our tracks where we had swung them around, leaving probably
one hundred head out.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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