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There was a noise in the old seaman's throat, as though the words had been rattling together before they could come out. "Steers... like a little boat," he said, at last, with hoarse tenderness, without giving the master as much as half a glance then, watchfully, spun the wheel down, steadied, flung it back again.
He looked up and down the gorge, as did the other cowboys. But not even the sharpest eye could detect the faintest "sign" of the steers having been driven along the passage. "They must have them hidden somewhere," said Dick. "We'd better go back to the place where the sign petered out. There must be some opening there out of the main canyon."
There is no doubt that they are his: he has the entire charge of them. When they get to be steers he spends all his holidays in breaking them in to a yoke. He gets them so broken in that they will run like a pair of deer all over the farm, turning the yoke, and kicking their heels, while he follows in full chase, shouting the ox language till he is red in the face.
But this much is clear; If you are on the level it's up to you to see that I don't lose any more stock. And it's also up to you to find where those five steers went. And get them back. Every single hoof of them." That night Steve himself spent in Drop Off Valley, a rifle over his arm.
He is a man of considerable means, and is going in largely for stock-raising. He has commissioned me to buy something like five thousand head of cows and two-year-old steers for him. His bulls he brought out with him.
It was when he had gathered the first train load of big, rollicky steers for market and was watching Jim Bleeker close the stockyard gate on the tail of the herd at Tower, the nearest shipping point, that the disagreeable element came in the person of Dill and the news he bore.
This was the last trip we were called to make this season, and our time for the remainder of the year was taken up with the general routine work of the large cattle ranch. Late the next season we took the trail en route to Cheyenne, Wyoming, with two thousand head of fine Texas steers for the Swan Brothers, 20 miles northwest of Cheyenne.
As the circle of sage lessened the steers began to bawl, and when it closed entirely there came a great upheaval in the center, and a terrible thumping of heads and clicking of horns. Bawling, climbing, goring, the great mass of steers on the inside wrestled in a crashing din, heaved and groaned under the pressure. Then came a deadlock. The inner strife ceased, and the hideous roar and crash.
What an ordeal that was for good women to go through! I know they're good. And there they were swearing to " "Didn't it make me sick?" interrupted Joe in a kind of growl. "Reckon it made Judge Stone sick, too. After Mary went under he conducted that trial like a man cuttin' out steers at a round-up. He wanted to get it over. He never forced any question.... Bad job to ride down Stonebridge way!
Oh, he'll buck like one of his own red bay steers but he'll buy!" "We're pretty well stocked up," Lee offered gently. "Turning the hills over to the hogs makes a difference, too. We're going to be short of feed long before September is over." "Short of range feed, yes," she retorted warmly.
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