Historical fiction; Ranch life -- Fiction; Western stories
"There's no open water," replied the older boy, "and to make a dose of
poison effective, it requires a drink. The bait is to be placed near
running water--those were the orders. We've got five hundred cattle here
to succor first. Open the gates."
The second day's work in the sleet proved more effective. The sun
scattered both snow and ice; southern slopes bared, trails were beaten
out to every foot of open ground, and by the middle of the afternoon
fully a thousand acres lay bare, inviting the herd to feast to its
heart's content. But a night on their feet had tired out the cattle, and
it was with difficulty that they were prevented from lying down in
preference to grazing. On such occasions, the boys threw aside their
flails, and, mounting their horses, aroused the exhausted animals,
shifting them to better grazing and holding them on their feet.
"This is the first time I ever saw cattle too tired to eat," said Joel,
as the corral gates were being roped shut. "Something must be done. Rest
seems as needful as food. This is worse than any storm yet. Half of them
are lying down already. We must build a bonfire to-night. Wolves are
afraid of a fire."
Fully half the cattle refused to drink, preferring rest or having eaten
snow to satisfy their thirst. The condition of the herd was alarming,
not from want of food, but from the hungry prowlers of the night. Before
leaving, the brothers built a little fire outside the gate, as best they
could from the fuel at hand, expecting to return later and replenish the
wood supply from headquarters.
The boys were apt in adopting Texas methods. Once the horses were fed
and their own supper eaten, the lads fastened onto two dry logs, and
from pommels dragged them up to the tiny blaze at the corral opening. It
was early in the evening, the herd was at rest, and the light of the
bonfire soon lit up the corral and threw fancy shadows on the combing
snow which formed the upper rim. The night was crimping cold, and at a
late hour the boys replenished the fire and returned home. But as they
dismounted at the stable, the hunting cry of a wolf pack was wafted down
the valley on the frosty air, and answered by a band far to the south in
the sand hills.
"They're coming again," said Joel, breathlessly listening for the
distant howling to repeat. "The fire ought to hold them at a distance
until nearly morning. Let's feed the horses and turn in for the night."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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