Dave was mounted on the
steed he had so admired, and the others had equally good horses.
"Shall we take our guns?" asked Roger.
"What for?" asked the cowboy.
"Oh, I thought we might get the chance to shoot something."
"We'll not have much time to look for game," answered Sid Todd.
"However, if you want to take your shootin' irons, there ain't no
objections." So each of the lads provided himself with a shotgun. Todd
carried a pistol, of the "hoss" variety and nearly two feet long, the
same being deposited in the holster of his saddle.
The course was to the westward, to the foothills of the distant
mountains. Here, the cowboy explained, was a treacherous ravine, the
sides overgrown with a tangle of low bushes. The cattle loved to get in
the bushes, finding something there particularly appetizing to eat, and
often the rocks and dirt would give way and a steer would go down in the
hollow and be unable to get out.
"They don't seem to know how to climb the rocks," said Sid Todd. "And
you've got to fairly drive 'em the right way, or they'd stay in the
hollow till they died."
Dave felt like "letting himself loose," as he expressed it, and with a
level stretch of several miles before them, he called on Phil and Roger
for a race.
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